O     M     E    . 


JOYS 


SOEEOWS    OF    SOME. 


ANNA      LEL  AND 


"  OH  1    THOU  WXALTHT  PAST  ! 

THISB  ARB  OCB  TBKASCKK3." 


NEW   YORK; 
DERBY    &    JACKSON,    119    NASSAU    STREET. 

CINCINNATI:— H.  W.  DERBY  *  00. 
1857. 


KxramiD  according  to  Act  of  Conifrei.,  in  the  year  18SS,  by 

J.  C.  DERBY, 
IB  th«  CUrk't  Offlc*  of  th*  Diitrict  Court  for  the  Southern, Dutriot  of  New  York. 


W   H.  Timox,  Stmotypcr.  PDDMY  A   RUMKLL,  Printer.. 


PREFACE. 


IN  these  days  of  many  books,  multitudes  of  tales  are  told,  whose 
only  foundation  is  in  the  fancy  and  imagination  of  their  writers. 

How  often  after  the  perusal  of  these  does  the  reader  feel  that 
Romance  is,  after  all,  less  strange  than  Reality,  and  that  from  his 
own  history  or  his  own  knowledge  he  might  weave  a  tissue  of  facts 
which  should  be  more  interesting,  and  even  more  startling,  than 
these  airy  structures. 

To  the  indulgence  of  such  »  feeling  may  be  ascribed  the  origin  of 
this  unpretending  volume. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  L 
irr  MOTHER'S  DEATH 13 

CHAPTER   H. 

"EABTH    TO    EARTH,  AND  DUST    TO  DUST  " 16 

CHAPTER   HL 

THE    FIRST    HOltE    AND    THE   SECOND 21 

CHAPTER  IV. 


CHAPTER  V. 

30 


CHAPTER  VL 

TEARS     AND    B1OLIS  .  .  . 


CHAPTER   YTL 

HOME    AGAIN— BUPBBT 


CHAPTER   VHL 

PLVE    MOUNTAIN    AND    TALLET    BROOK 


CHAPTER   DL 

63 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    X. 
BROTHERS,    SISTERS    AND    COUSINS 


CHAPTER   XL 


DREAMS    AND     REALITIES 


CHAPTER   XH. 


CHAPTER   XHI. 

A    LITTLE    LOVE    AND   A    LITTLE    TROUBLE 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


OOUNTRT    SCENES 


CHAPTER   XV. 


CHAPTER    XVL 


SOBER    REALITIES  . 


CHAPTER   XVH. 


CHAPTER   XVHL 


CHAPTER   XEL 

THE    JOURNEY    AND    YISIT    TO    BOSTON 


CHAPTER   XX. 


CHAPTER   XXL 


59 


69 


74 


79 


91 


98 


102 


110 


115 


126 


133 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

"  MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM  "  ............................       139 

CHAPTER    YTTTT. 
A    SKA    VOYAGE  .........................................       143 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

BANGOR  ................................................      149 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

,     156 


CHAPTER   XXVL 
AT   MBS.  WOLBY'S  ............................     160 


CHAPTER   XXVH. 

THE    NEW    HOME....    .......................    .............      164 

CHAPTER   XXVHL 

SUNDAY   SCENES  .....    ........................  4  ........      168 


CHAPTER 

OUR     NEIGHBORS  .......  ,  .......  .      173 


CHAPTER 

COCNTBT    VISmNO  ........................................      178 


CHAPTER 

OUR    LANDLORD  ..........................................       183 


CHAPTER 
SFBIHO-TDOi  .............................................      193 


CHAPTER    YXXTTL 

....     W7 

1* 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XXXTV". 

"THE    HUE    OF    DEATH    IS    CAST    O'EB    EVERYTHINO " 202 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 

A    WAY    PBOYIDED 206 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

RETURN    TO    BAXGOH...  209 


CHAPTER   XXXVIL 

NEW    FRIENDS  ....................    .......................      215 


CHAPTER 

GOING    HOME  .............................................      221 


CHAPTER 
SISTEBLT    CONFERENCES  ...................................      227 

CHAPTER   XL. 

MASTER    HOWARD    AND    CHARLES    COKE  ......................       231 

CHAPTER    3TT.T. 

MEW    TBOUBLES  ..................................       ____  ..      239 

CHAPTER    XT.TT, 

"IT    WAS    A    DREAM    AND    WOULD    NOT    STAY"  ..............      248 

CHAPTER    XLm. 

"BEHIND    THE    CLOUD    IS    THE    SUN    STILL    SHINING  "  ..........      253 

CHAPTER    XLIV. 

MRS.    CHAPLAIN    .........................................      269 

4 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

BOWING    AND    REAPING  .      265 


CONTENTS.  XI 

CHAPTER   XLVL 

"  NOT  LOST,  BUT  GONE  BEFORE  " 274 

CHAPTER   XLVH. 

PARTINGS    BY    THE   WAT 277 

CHAPTER    XLVni. 

"THE   SORROWS   OF  OTHERS  CAST  THEIR  SHADOW  0?ER  ME  "    .  .  .       283 

CHAPTER   XLIX. 

THB    WIDOW 287 

CHAPTER   L. 

REUBEN    COKE 292 

CHAPTER   LL 
m E  HEIRESS • • 295 

CHAPTER    LH. 

LITTLE    HELPS 302 

CHAPTER   LHL 

PINE    MOUNTAIN    COTTAQB 306 

CHAPTER   LIT. 

THE     ORPHAN 811 

CHAPTER   LV. 

"A    FATRE    GIRL    WITH    A    CHANQEFULLE    SPIRIT" S18 

.       CHAPTER    LVL 
TBCST 322 

CHAPTER   LVH. 

GREENVALB ,.,,, 326 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER   LVffl. 


CHATTER    LIX. 
ENERGINE'S  RETURN ...  334 

CHAPTER   LX. 

RETROSPECT    AMD    CHANGE    342 

CHAPTER   LXL 

THE    WOT...  .      346 


H      O      M      E  . 

CHAPTER  I. 

MY   MOTHER'S  DEATH 

"  There  passed  away  from  our  fireside 
The  wealth  of  a  love  untold." 

SILENCE  and  sadness  were  in  the  house  of  Sidney  Leland  1 
A  heavy  sorrow  was  on  every  heart.  The  wife  and  mother 
lay  on  her  death-bed  ;  but  for  her  the  bitterness  of  death 
was  passed.  Husband  and  children,  her  dearest  earthly 
treasures,  had  been  given  up — trustingly,  lovingly  resigned 
to  the  keeping  of  one  who  she  felt  would  never  leave  nor 
forsake  them,  and  with  her  mind  staid  on  his  promises  of 
love,  she  was  kept  in  perfect  peace,  waiting  only  for  the 
summons — "  the  Master  calleth  for  thee  I" 

Her  husband  had  struggled  long  and  fearfully  to  obtain 
the  mastery  over  his  feelings,  that,  in  her  presence  at  least, 
he  might  be  calm.  He  had  tried  to  say  and  to  feel,  "  Thy 
will  be  done  ;"  but  his  spirit  rebelled  at  the  agonizing 
thought  of  a  separation  from  the  beloved  companion  of  his 
life. 


14  HOME. 

Alone  with  his  God,  he  had  been  pleading  for  strength 
to  subdue  his  murmurings  and  to  enable  him  to  bear  this 
heavy  chastening  from  his  Father's  hand.  Again  and  again 
within  the  last  few  hours,  since  he  had  been  told  th*ere  was 
no  hope,  he  had  stolen  to  the  bedside,  looked  long  and 
earnestly  upon  her  pale  face,  radiant  with  calm  and  holy 
joy,  as  though  he  would  have  her  image  indelibly  graven 
upon  his  very  soul,  and  then  hastened  away  again  to  pour 
out  the  bitterness  of  his  heart's  grief  before  Him  who  alone 
could  give  him  aid. 

Once  more  he  stands  bending  over  her,  and  gazing  upon 
her  loved  countenance  with  an  intensity  of  affection  and 
subdued  -emotion  in  his  manly  face,  that  told  more  than 
words  or  tears  could  do,  how  deeply  the  heart  of  the  strong 
man  was  stirred.  Her  eyes  were  closed.  She  had  lain  thus 
tranquil  and  silent  through  the  day.  Her  thoughts  were 
evidently  not  of  earth.  The  communings  .of  her  spirit  were 
with  an  unseen  Friend,  and  her  steady  faith  had  rapturous 
glimpses  of  an  unseen  world.  He  tenderly  pressed  his  lips 
upon  her  forehead.  Slowly  she  unclosed  her  eyes,  and 
gazed  around  for  a  moment  in  bewilderment,  as  if  uncon- 
scious where  she  was,  but  as  she  met  the  agonized  look  of 
her  husband,  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  and  her  arms  were 
clasped  about  his  neck,  while  she  softly  murmured, — 

"  The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee — the  Lord  make  his 
face  to  shine  upon  thee,  and  be  gracious  unto  thee — the  Lord 
lift  up  his  countenance  upon  thee  and  give  thee  peace"; 
then  taking  his  hand  in  hers  she  sought  to  give  him  words 
of  comfort,  and  added  in  a  calmer  tone,  "  Our  Heavenly 


MY  MOTHER'S  DEATH.  15 

Father  has  been  very  merciful  to  us,  we  have  enjoyed  much 
happiness  together  all  these  years,  and  shall  we  murmur 
now  ?  Even  now  He  is  full  of  mercy  and  compassion. 
Never  before  have  I  felt  the  Saviour  so  near  and  precious 
to  me.  He  is  with  me  and  I  fear  no  evil,  though  I  am 
passing  into  the  dark  valley.  He  will  support  and  comfort 
you.  He  will  be  infinitely  better  to  you  and  our  dear  little 
ones  than  any  earthly  friend.  Do  not  grieve  for  me — rather 
rejoice  because  I  am  going  so  soon  to  be  with  Him.  You 
will  soon  join  me  where  we  shall  be  for  ever  with  the  Lord. 

"  God  will  take  care  of  our  dear  children  ;  I  have  given 
them  up  to  Him  ;  He  will  help  you  to  train  them  up  for 
Him." 

Her  husband  sobbed  aloud  ;  he  sank  on  his  knees,  and 
clasped  her  thin  hands  in  his  own. 

"  Oh  my  own  sweet  wife  1  must  I  lose  you,  my  best 
beloved  ?  But  I  am  wrong,  Bessy,"  controlling  his  emotion 
with  a  masterly  effort.  "  It  is  the  Lord  ;  let  Him  do  what 
seemeth  Him  good.  He  does  not  willingly  afflict,  and  oh  1 
let  me  not  murmur  against  His  holy  will." 


16  HOME. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  EARTH  TO  EARTH  AND  DUST  TO  DUST." 

"  Oh !  beyond  that  bourne  :— 
In  the  vast  cycle  of  being  which  begins 
At  that  broad  threshold,  with  what  fairer  forms 
Shall  the  great  law  of  change  and  progress  clothe 
Its  workings." 

AH  1  well  do  I  remember  the  mournful  tones  of  the  minis- 
ter, the  hushed  silence,  the  solemn  faces  of  the  few  kind 
neighbors  gathered  to  attend  my  mother's  funeral.  I  knew 
my  darling  mother  was  lying,  cold  and  stiff,  in  the  coffin, 
with  my  newly-found  baby- brother  on  her  breast. 

They  told  me  she  was  dead,  but  little  indeed  did  I  com- 
prehend their  words.  Childish  wonder,  mysterious  awe,  with 
a  dim  consciousness  of  some  mighty  overwhelming  evil,  were 
confusedly  mingled  with  the  current  of  my  feelings  as  I 
gazed  by  turns  on  all  around  me.  All  was  strange  as  if  in 
a  troubled  dream.  My  Father! — how  fixed  and  dreary  was 
his  gaze  as  he  strove  to  listen  to  the  proffered  words  of  con- 
solation and  sympathy  from  the  holy  man  !  while  he  strug- 
gled to  gain  submission  and  strength  to  bear  up  under  his 
weight  of  woe.  The  light  of  his  happy  home,  the  mother  of 
his  babes,  was  gone  for  ever  from  his  sight. 

There  was  deep  feeling  in  the  faces  of  the  little  company 
as  they  looked  upon  the  desolate  man  and  the  motherless 


TO  EABTH,   DUST  TO  DUST."  17 

group  of  seven,  while  the  minister  repeated  in  tremulous 
tones,  the  exquisitely  touching  and  appropriate  words ; 
"  She  that  hath  borne  seven  languisheth  ;  she  hath  given  up 
the  ghost  ;  her  sun  hath  gone  down  while  it  was  yet  day." 
As  he  spoke,  his  moistened  eye  and  broken  voice  told  how 
deeply  his  kind  heart  sympathized  with  the  afflicted  ones 
around  him. 

Ah  1  she  had  been  well  loved  ;  she  had  been  the  pride  of 
fond  brothers  and  sisters,  the  joy  of  her  husband's  heart, 
and,  alas  I  from  her  helpless  band  of  little  ones  how  ill 
could  she  be  spared  ! 

There  was  the  youngest,  the  fair-haired  Willy,  of  two 
summers,  now  hushed  in  Betsey's  arms,  herself  the  picture 
of  despairing  grief.  Good  and  thoughtful  Bessy  1  She, 
though  only  a  child  of  twelve  years,  was  ever  wont  to  be 
the  comforter,  so  quiet  and  so  kind,  while  Mary,  the  eldest 
born,  gave  way  to  passionate  sobbings,  and  hid  her  face  in 
utter  abandonment  of  sorrow. 

But  Alger,  gentle  and  sensitive,  the  tender  and  peculiar 
care  of  his  mother  (for  he  had  been  dumb  from  his  birth), 
how  would  he  miss  her  soft  hand  and  loving  caress,  her 
ready  response  to  the  mute  appeal  of  his  dark,  speaking 
eye  !  And  Grace,  too,  pale  and  fragile  as  the  first  spring 
flower,  and  as  delicately  beautiful,  with  quick  mental  sus- 
ceptibilities, and  feelings  keen  and  varying  like  the  breeze 
in  April,  how  needful  for  her  the  gentle  influence  of  a  watch- 
ful mother.  My  youngest  sister,  the  chubby-faced  Hester, 
and  myself,  full  of  rosy  health,  were  in  our  childishness  too 
fond  of  sport  and  frolic  to  retain  long  our  grief  and  half- 


18 

frightened  wonder.  In  after  years  we  knew  full  well  that 
that  best  of  gifts — a  kind,  judicious  mother — was  not 
ours. 

The  precious  remains  of  our  loved  mother  were  commit- 
ted to  their  last  resting-place,  and  sadly  and  silently  the 
bereaved  ones  retraced  their  steps,  and  entered  the  dwelling 
from  whence  they  had  so  lately  borne  her  who  had  been  its 
joy  and  blessing — gone  now,  never  to  return  ! 

My  father  had  before  appeared  calm,  but  as  he  now  cast 
his  eyes  upon  his  motherless  family  of  little  ones,  and  thought 
what  desolation  Death  had  wrought  in  his  happy  home,  his 
grief  burst  forth  afresh.  He  sank  into  a  chair,  his  head 
rested  upon  his  hands,  while  his  whole  frame  shook  convul- 
sively. We  gathered  around,  weeping  bitterly,  and  sought 
in  our  childish  sympathy  to  comfort  him  by  endearing  words 
and  caresses. 

Little  did  we  then  understand  his  grief  or  our  own  great 
loss.  He  did  not  speak,  but  kissed  and  embraced  each  one, 
when  a  considerate  friend  gently  drew  us  from  the  room  and 
left  him  alone.  Willing  hands  and  kind  hearts  had  they — 
our  friends  and  neighbors  ;  our  evening  meal  was  prepared, 
and  all  needful  care  and  attention  ministered  to  us  ere  they 
retired  to  their  own  homes.  Ah,  that  sad  evening  ! 

Little  Willy  had  fallen  asleep  and  had  been  laid  on  Bessy's 
bed.  The  rest  gathered  in  silence  round  the  table  ;  my  poor 
father's  voice  trembled  as  he  asked  a  blessing  on  our  food. 
Mary  refused  to  eat,  burst  into  tears,  and  left  the  table. 
Bessy,  dear,  good  Bessy,  more  thoughtful  for  our  father, 
though  she  could  not  restrain  her  tears,  quietly  wiped  them 


"jSARTH   TO   EARTH,    AND   DUST   TO   DTJST."  19 

away,  as  she  carefully  poured  out  his  tea  and  made  every 
arrangement  for  his  comfort.  Thus  was  Bessy  ever  doing 
and  caring  for  others  and  forgetting  herself.  My  father 
scarcely  tasted  food  ;  he  moved  back  his  chair  and  sat  long 
with  his  head  bowed  in  silence.  Mary  and  Bessy,  with 
noiseless  steps,  carried  away  the  tea-things,  while  we 
younger  ones  were  grouped  together  still  and  sad,  or  spoke 
only  in  whispers.  The  very  dog — old  Hero,  our  companion 
and  playfellow — seemed  conscious  that  there  was  some  unu- 
sual sorrow  among  us,  for  he  walked  from  one  to  another, 
looking  wistfully  in  our  faces,  resting  his  head  in  our  laps  a 
moment,  and  then  lying  down  in  his  corner  again.  At 
length  our  father  took  down  the  large  old  Bible,  from  which 
he  had  read  to  us  so  many  lessons  «f  wisdom — the  book  our 
mother  loved  so  well — I  can  almost  see  it  now,  that  old 
Bible — and  drawing  his  chair  near  to  the  light,  he  read  a 
short  portion  to  us  in  a  low  but  steady  voice  ;  then  knelt 
and  prayed  ;  at  first  in  trembling  tones,  but  as  he  went  on, 
he  gained  strength  and  calmness.  He  brought  us  all  before 
his  Heavenly  Father — he  pleaded  so  earnestly,  so  trustingly, 
that,  young  as  I  was,  I  never  forgot  that  prayer — I  never 
can  forget  it.  When  he  rose,  my  father  looked  calm  and 
cheerful,  and  I  well  remember  feeling  that  God — the  God 
of  my  father  and  mother — had  comforted  him. 

For  several  days  one  and  another  of  our  friends  and 
neighbors  would  come  in  to  cheer  and  aid  us  in  our  house- 
hold duties  ;  but  Mary  and  Bessy,  though  so  young,  had 
been  well  instructed,  and  with  affectionate  solicitude  they 
strove  to  do  their  best,  that  they  might,  by  that  means,  if 


20  HOME. 

possible,  lighten  the  increased  burden  of  care  now  resting 
on  our  father. 

I  was  soon  to  be  separated  from  the  little  flock.  Not 
long  after  my  mother's  death,  an  aunt,  my  mother's 
youngest  sister,  who  lived  at  some  distance,  came  to  see  us. 
She  kindly  offered  to  assume  for  a  time  the  care  of  one  of 
the  younger  ones,  and  finally,  after  considerable  delibera- 
tion and  some  alternations  of  choice  from  one  to  another, 
she  selected  me  from  the  group  to  accompany  her  home. 
My  aunt  was  a  good-natured,  easy  sort  of  a  woman,  and 
withal  a  little  selfish  ;  for,  being  the  youngest  of  her  family, 
handsome,  and  decidedly  willful,  she  had  been  too  much 
indulged  in  her  youth,  and  now  was  little  inclined  to  care 
for  others  so  long  as  herself  was  at  ease.  Uncle  Huntley, 
her  husband,  was  somewhat  imperious  in  manner,  and  occa- 
sionally peevish  anu  fretful  ;  he  was  several  years  the 
senior  of  my  aunt,  for  she  was  yet  in  the  bloom  of  youth, 
and  valued  himself  not  a  little  upon  his  descent  from  a 
family  of  some  distinction.  Of  him  I  was  profoundly  afraid, 
but  in  my  simple  little  heart  I  thought  aunt  Hannah  was  so 
good-natured  and  kind,  I  should  have  a  fine  time  with  her 
and  my  two  little  cousins,  both  younger  than  myself ;  so 
the  tears  I  shed  at  parting  with  my  brothers  and  sisters 
were  quickly  chased  away  by  the  bright  anticipations  of 
childhood. 


FIRST   HOME   AND   THE   SECOND.  21 


CHAPTER  III. 

Jf*  "' 

THE    FIRST   HOME   AND   THE    SECOND. 

"  Flowers  there  are  that  bloom  apart, 
With  meekly  consecrated  charm, 
Whose  gifts  of  fragrance  cheer  the  heart 
Like  healing  balm." 

MY  mother  had  been  blessed  with  pious  and  tender 
parents,  and  had  received,  for  those  early  times,  a  good 
education.  Until  the  age  of  seventeen  she  had  lived,  with 
little  change,  in  her  sheltered  happy  home,  in  the  town  of 
Roxbury,  just  across  Boston  Neck.  The  house  was  but  a 
few  years  ago  yet  standing.  This  neck  of  land,  now 
widened  on  either  hand  by  soil  reclaimed  from  the  sea,  and 
covered  with  stately  dwellings,  was  then  a  mere  narrow 
road,  almost  washed  by  the  tide,  and  formed  the  only  means 
of  land  communication  between  Boston  and  the  adjacent 
country.  My  grandfather,  whose  name  was  Lyle,  had  a 
numerous  family  of  children,  and  being  desirous  of  opening 
a  new  field  of  enterprise  for  his  sons  just  entering  upon 
active  life,  he  was  induced  to  purchase  a  tract  of  wild 
mountain-land  in  the  remote  township  which  we  have  called 
Wayland,  the  scene  of  the  events  recorded  in  the  pre- 
ceding pages. 

Accordingly,  he  went  to  Wayland  with  his  two  elder 


22  HOME. 

SODS,  and  established  them  there  among  the  pioneer  settlers 
of  those  wild,  wooded  hills.  In  the  midst  of  prosecuting  his 
plans,  he  returned  from  a  journey  to  explore  his  new  pos- 
sessions, to  find  his  beloved  wife  on  the  bed  of  death  ;  and 
in  a  few  months  he  too  was  called  to  bid  adieu  to  .earthly 
things,  to  rest  in  the  same  peaceful  grave  till  the  morning 
of  the  resurrection. 

•  The  homestead  was  soon  transferred  to  strangers,  and 
the  remnant  of  the  orphan  family,  including  my  mother  and 
some  younger  brothers  and  sisters,  repaired  to  their  inherit- 
ance among  the  hills  of  Wayland,  finding  a  home  with  the 
older  sons  on  their  new-cultivated  farms.  Bessy  Lyle,  my 
mother,  is  described  as  possessing  much  sweetness  of  nature, 
joined  to  a  happy  turn  for  humor  and  a  winning  sprightli- 
ness  of  manner,  while  no  small  share  of  personal  beauty 
graced  the  bright  bloom  of  her  early  youth.  My  father 
was  a  neighboring  farmer  ;  he  saw  and  loved  the  young 
orphan  girl,  and  ere  long  she  learned  with  her  full  soul  to 
do  justice  to  his  excellent  qualities,  his  intelligent  good 
sense,  high  integrity,  and,  above  all,  his  deep-toned  piety. 
She  became  his  wife,  joyfully  sharing  with  him  who  had 
won  her  young  heart's  affection  the  toils  and  hardships,  the 
hopes,  too,  and  pleasures  of  a  life  in  a  wild  region  newly 
settled. 

There,  in  that  solitary  farm-house  on  the  hill-side,  had  she 
passed  fifteen  years,  a  happy  wife  and  mother,  though  far 
from  her  early  home,  and  isolated  from  society,. save  the  few 
scattered  rustic  neighbors.  Her  ready  solace  and  cheerful 
smile  were  never  wanting  in  the  hour  of  difficulty  and  dis- 


THE   FIRST   HOME   AND   THE   SECOND.  23 

couragement,  and  her  kindly  ways  and  loving  spirit 
smoothed  the  rough  places  of  life,  making  all  around  her  bet- 
ter and  happier  by  drawing  out  the  best  and  sweetest  sym- 
pathies of  our  common  nature.  Such  was  my  lamented 
mother,  whose  children  form  the  subject  of  this  narrative — 
this  simple,  unvarnished  story  of  home-life  and  home-scenes. 
A  few  words  respecting  the  town  of  Wayland.  This  was 
truly  a  picturesque  and  lovely  spot,  consisting  chiefly  of  hills 
skirting  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Connecticut.  That  val- 
ley is  now  the  pride  of  New  England,  with  its  palace-like 
dwellings,  its  busy,  teeming  population,  its  restless  hum  of 
business,  each  hill  and  valley  echoing  to  the  sound  of  the 
untiring  car,  and  everywhere  the  abode  of  wealth — its  green 
meadows  and  upland  slopes  seeming  one  broad  garden  of 
luxuriance  and  beauty — but  in  that  day  it  presented  a  far 
different  aspect,  for  the  narrative  refers  to  a  period  immedi- 
ately preceding  our  revolutionary  struggle.  Then  a  large 
portion  of  New  England  was  an  unknown  land — its  familiar 
inhabitants  the  wild  fowl  and  savage  beast,  with  here  and 
there  a  straggling  settlement  in  the  valleys  and  along  the 
borders  of  the  streams.  Many  quiet,  lovely  nooks  were  hid 
among  its  hills,  of  which  few  now  remain  so  sequestered  from 
the  busy  world  as  not  to  resound  with  the  shrill  neighing  of 
the  iron-horse.  Memory  presents  to  my  mind  the  vision  of 
my  early  home,  the  scenes  of  my  happiest  days,  glowing  with 
young  imagination's  warm  coloring,  as  a  place  of  rare  beauty. 
The  principal  elevation  towered  far  above  the  surrounding 
hills,  and  was  called  Pine  Mountain,  from  the  lofty  groves 
of  that  majestic  tree  crowning  its  summit.  On  three  sides 


24 

it  declined  in  long,  gentle  slopes,  abounding  with  the  chest- 
nut and  oak,  furnishing  fine  pasturage,  and  well  rewarding, 
too,  the  labors  of  the  farmers  whose  brown  huts,  scattered 
on  the  knolls  and  ridges,  sometimes  peeped  from  among  the 
thick  trees,  sometimes  were  distinguished  only  by  the  curl- 
ing smoke.  Quite  different,  however,  was  the  appearance 
of  Pine  Mountain  on  its  eastern  side  ;  there  it  made  a  preci- 
pitate descent  to  a  deep  ravine  or  chasm,  called  the  "  Gap  ;" 
through  which  was  the  principal  road.  This  narrow  "  Gap" 
gradually  widened  and  opened  into  a  valley,  until  the  little 
brook,  at  first  rushing  with  wild  music  over  its  rocky  bed, 
overhung  with  thick  trees  and  rocky  precipices,  at  length 
found  its  peaceful  course  among  green  meadows  and  fair 
fields,  already  occupied  by  thrifty  settlers.  Their  farms 
extended  up  the  slopes  of  the  wooded  hills  on  either  side, 
while  their  cottages,  nestled  in  gardens  by  the  road-side, 
dotted  the  long,  straight  valley,  till  it  became  an  undulating 
plain,  crossed  and  bounded  by  ranges  of  hills,  whose  dark 
blue  summits  rested  against  the  sky. 

That  valley  at  the  foot  of  Pine  Mountain  I — Valley  Brook 
as  it  was  called  1  How  the  thought  of  its  quiet  loveliness, 
lingers  in  my  heart,  though  long,  sad  years  have  passed, 
and  the  sportive  joys  of  childhood,  the  deep,  full  happiness 
of  youthful  prime  and  of  a  wedded  home,  all  alike  have 
drifted  down  the  stream  of  time,  untill  their  memory  seems 
like^the  far-off  murmurings  of  that  placid  brook. 

I  remember  the  weather-beaten  school-house  on  the  briuk 
of  the  shallow  brook,  where  we  laved  our  feet  in  many  a 
pool,  skipping  from  stone  to  stone,  and  under  the  rustit 


THE   FIRST   HOME   AND   THE    SECOND.  25 

bridge — a  wonderful  work  of  art  to  our  childish  eyes — the 
high  bank,  with  the  old  broad-armed  pine  on  its  summit  ; 
the  sandy  road,  too.  through  the  solemn  old  woods,  on  our 
way  to  school,  so  still,  so  dark — where  we  trod  softly,  and 
the  beatings  of  our  little  hearts  sounded  louder  than  the 
pattering  of  our  tiny  feet.  Oh  !  Valley  Brook  1  To  my 
partial  memory  thy  green  fields  and  gently  rising  hills  ever 
rest  in  sunlight  1 


26 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ATHERTON. 

«•  Childhood  is  the  vernal  season, 

Trim  and  train  the  tender  shoot ; 
Love  is  to  the  coming  reason 
As  the  blossom  to  the  fruit." 

THE  journey  to  my  new  residence  in  the  distant  town  of 
Atherton  was  a  great  event  to  me  in  my  childhood. 
Everything  to  my  inexperienced  eyes  was  delightful.  The 
broad  beaten  road,  the  long  sombre  woods,  the  hills,  the 
winding  river,  all  were  new  and  wonderful  to  me. 

The  village  of  Athertou  was  older,  larger,  and  altogether 
more  imposing  than  the  simple  neighborhood  of  ray  father's 
house  ;  the  long  straight  street,  with  its  double  row  of 
smart  white  dwellings,  seemed  to  me  quite  magnificent. 
My  uncle's  house  was  much  larger  and  grander  than  my 
humble  cottage-home  ;  it  had  been  the  old  parsonage,  for 
the  father  of  Uncle  Huntley  was  the  former  clergyman  of 
the  town. 

The  house  stood  with  its  gable-end  to  the  street,  shaded 
by  two  venerable  elms  in  front ;  in  the  rear  was  a  garden 
and  an  orchard,  with  trees  so  thick  that  in  summer  scarce 
a  ray  of  sunshine  could  glimmer  through  the  branches  on 
the  soft  green  carpet  below. 


ATHERTON.  27 

The  remembrance  of  two  years  which  I  spent  in  this  place 
with  my  aunt,  is  mostly  dim  and  confused,  shaping  itself  to 
nothing  marked  or  clear,  excepting  an  intense  desire, 
towards  the  last  of  the  time,  to  return  to  my  own  home. 
My"  fear  of  my  uncle  I  could  never  overcome. 

He  was  somewhat  querulous  in  manner,  and  his  tone  of 
voice  was  sharp  and  startling.  I  was  always  shy  of  speak- 
ing before  him,  or  indeed  of  being  in  his  presence  at  all  ; 
timid  and  shrinking,  I  generally  contrived  to  escape  the 
notice  of  visitors,  for  I  was  keenly  alive  to  the  idea  of  fitness 
and  good  looks,  and  was  frequently  oppressed  with  a  feeling 
of  shame,  as  I  thought  of  the  appearance  I  made.  An 
indistinct  impression  yet  remains  of  having  been  neglected, 
of  being  unwashed,  uncombed,  sometimes  even  in  tattered 
garments. 

Not  that  my  aunt  was  unkind  to  me — far  from  it  ;  with 
the  best  of  feelings  and  intentions,  she  had  taken  me  to  her 
home.  The  addition  of  another  to  the  number  of  her  own 
little  ones  must  have  been  a  sensible  increase  both  of  labor 
and  expense,  and  they  were  far  from  being  rich.  Her  hus- 
band, though  in  many  respects  a  worthy  man,  was  some- 
times exacting  and  hard  to  please  ;  her  own  children  were 
troublesome,  and  so  no  doubt  was  I — a  child  of  only  six 
years,  lively,  impetuous,  and  full  of  robust  health,  feeling  in 
every  limb  the  bounding  pulse  of  the  dawn  of  life. 

Love  and  gratitude  have  ever  been  deeply  cherished  in 
niy  heart  for  my  kind,  careless,  easy-tempered,  mirth-loving 
aunt.  If  in  aught  she  failed  in  duty  to  me,  her  sister's 
child,  that  failure  was  solely  the  result  of  the  thoughtless, 


good-natured  negligence  inherent  in  her  disposition,  which 
rendered  her  equally  averse  to  the  unwelcome  task  of  cor- 
recting the  faults  of  my  character,  and  to  the  daily  care  of 
supplying  all  my  childish  wants.  How  I  loved  her  children  ! 

They  were  both  younger  than  myself.  Harvey  was  a 
gleesome  noisy  boy,  my  partner  in  many  a  merry  play,  as 
well  as  my  opponent  in  many  a  little  bickering.  He  was  a 
very  tyrant  in  exacting  compliance  with  his  wishes,  well 
knowing  that  the  trouble  of  curbing  his  turbulent  temper 
would  prove  too  great  a  task  to  be  often  undertaken. 
Little  Mary,  delicate  in  health,  and  somewhat  peevish,  was 
my  especial  charge,  and,  in  my  view,  the  "  wee  dearie"  was 
entitled  to  the  full  gratification  of  every  whim. 

Another  was  added  to  the  family  during  my  stay,  the 
darling  baby  Clara,  whom  it  was  my  delight  to  fondle  in 
my  lap,  gaze  into  her  deep  blue  eyes,  and  press  my  lips  tc 
her  sweet,  rosy  mouth",  the  dimpled  home  of  kisses. 

I  was  the  little  errand-girl  of  the  household,  too,  to  wait, 
and  tend,  and  run,  at  each  one's  call. 

When  not  employed,  I  roamed  as  fancy  led  me  over  the 
house,  garden,  or  orchard,  or  played  with  the  children, 
seldom  heeded  or  questioned.  My  favorite  resort  was  to  a 
corner  of  the  garden  where  a  clump  of  rosebushes  grew 
neglected.  Deep  in  their  shade,  I  made  my  little  playhouse, 
and  collected  my  store  of  precious  things,  the  knowledge  of 
which  I  carefully  guarded  from  all.  There,  for  many  an 
hour  in  the  long  summer  days,  I  revelled  in  my  childish 
fancies;  finding  ever  new  delight  in  making  dolls  of  poppies 
and  roses,  with  their  gay  silken  petals  for  dresses. 


ATHERTON.  29 

Even  now  I  recall  the  pleased  feeling  with  which  I 
reflected  that  my  dolls  were  more  richly  dressed  than  King 
Solomon,  for,  to  my  infant  comprehension,  they  had  quite  as 
real  an  existence  as  had  the  Hebrew  King  of  the  Bible. 

One  day;  near  the  end  of  the  second  year  of  my  stay  in 
Atherton,  my  father  came  to  visit  us,  bringing  with  him 
my  Uncle  Huntley's^  widowed  sister,  Aunt  Rhoda,  as  the 
children  called  her.  She  was  very  lively,  and  talked  to  me 
in  a  funny  strain,  quite  delighting  my  little  heart  by  the 
notice  she  took  of  me.  My  father  was  grave,  but  he  seemed 
happy.  He  could  not  take  me  home  with  him  then,  he  said, 
but  he  should  try  to  send  for  me  soon. 

Just  before  he  went  away,  he  took  me  into  the  garden 
alone,  and  spoke  most  kindly  to  me  for  sometime  about  my 
duty  to  my  Heavenly  Father,  to  myj-emaining  parent  and 
friends.  His  words  made  a  deep  impression  on  me  for"  the 
time,  and  led  me  to  make  many  resolutions  to  be  a  very 
good  girl.  I  am  not  sure  that  such  impressions  upon  the 
mind  of  a  child  are  ever  entirely  erased,  though  the  effect 
may  not  be  seen  or  known  for  many  years.  It  is  only  by 
"  precept  upon  precept,"  and  "  line  upon  line,"  that  the 
heart  ra&  be  duly  reached. 


30  HOME. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE    NEW   MOTHER. 

NOT  long  after  the  visit  of  my  father,  mentioned  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  my  aunt  came  one  night  to  the  side  of 
my  little  cot,  saying  that  she  had  something  to  tell  me. 

I  listened  with  wonder,  as  she  informed  me  that  a  new 
mother  had  gone  to  take  her  place  in  my  father's  house,  and 
that  my  father  would  soon  send  for  me  to  go  home.  She 
told  me  I  must  love  her  as  I  had  done  my  own  dear  mother, 
and  that  when  I  went  back  to  Wayland,  I  must  try  to  be  a 
very  good  child.  Her  tone  of  unwonted  seriousness  left 
somewhat  of  fear  and  dread  upon  my  mind  in  regard  to  this 
new  relative,  and  I  fell  asleep  full  of  dreamy  apprehensions 
of  some  undefined  evil. 

My  new  mother  was  the  sister  of  my  Uncle  Huntley,  the 
same  widow  lady  who  had  accompanied  my  father  in  his 
recent  visit  to  Atherton. 

She  had  been  the  only  daughter  of  indulgent  parents. 
She  grew  up  with  a  strong,  ungoverned  will,  little  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  so  important  an  element  in  a 
true  woman's  character.  Early  in  her  girlhood  she  formed 
an  attachment  for  a  low-lived,  worthless  foreigner,  employed 
in  her  father's  family.  Her  father,  naturally  enough,  hav- 
ing higher  wishes  for  this,  his  only  daughter,  forbade  her  to 


THE   NEW   MOT1IEB.  31 

see  or  think  of  him  ;  but  his  commands  being  disregarded, 
she  was  at  length  forbidden  to  leave  her  room.  The 
strength  of  her  will  and  her  ungovernable  temper,  now  spent 
their  fury  upon  her  physical  system,  and  threw  her  into  a 
slow  fever.  Her  parents  becoming  alarmed,  ceased  their 
opposition,  and,  recovering  her  health  again,  she  shortly 
after  became  the  wife  of  her  unworthy  admirer. 

His  subsequent  conduct  realized  the  worst  fears  of  her 
friends,  for  after  some  years  of  poverty  and  wretchedness, 
he  abandoned  her,  and  died  in  a  distant  town.  His  wife 
and  three  sons  were  left  to  the  care  of  her  relatives,  who 
subsequently  brought  about  the  union  with  my  father.  By 
this  marriage,  she  became  the  mother  of  seven  children,  five 
of  them  girls,  between  the  ages  of  five  and  fifteen  ;  a  situa- 
tion demanding  much  prudence,  gentle  firmness,  and  disin- 
terested love,  expressed  in  acts  of  untiring  kindness.  This 
rare  combination  of  qualities  was  certainly  not  possessed  by 
my  step-mother,  whose  unchastened  spirit  was^but  stung  to 
impatience  by  her  trials,  or  benumbed  into  sullen  and  cal- 
lous indifference.  "There  are  hearts  whose  sorrows  all 
spring  up  into  joys  for  others  " — which  become  softened  and 
purified  by  affliction — but  these  are  natures  of  finer  mould. 

The  shallow,  brawling  brook  may  glisten  in  the  sun,  and 
show  many  a  shining  pebble,  but  ca^n  by  no  possibility  flow 
with  the  peaceful,  yet  resistless  current  of  the  deep  river, 
whose  placid  surface,  from  its  clear,  calm  depths,  reflects 
the  sky  in  ever-varying  beauty. 

Let  me,  then,  in  portraying  character,  do  no  injustice  ; 
my  step-mother  had  but  ordinary  endowments  by  nature  ; 


32  HOME. 

hers  was  a  different  type  of  womanhood  from  that  which 
invests  the  hallowed  memory  of  my  own  mother.  The  one 
was  like  the  shallow,  babbling  brook,  the  other  like  the 
deep,  peaceful  river.  To  my  sainted  mother  belonged  the 
wealth  of  affection  of  "  the  grand,  full  soul,"  self-forgetting, 
devoted,  an  ever-flowing  fountain  of  tenderness  and  sympa- 
thy. A  serene,  deep-felt  excellence  like  this  my  step- 
mother could  not  even  comprehend. 

Let  me  revert,  in  my  next  chapter,  to  the  time  just  pre- 
vious to  my  return  home. 


TEARS  AND   SMILES.  33 


CHAPTER    VI. 

TEARS    AXI)    SMILES. 

ONE  afternoon  my  cousin  Harvey  came  running  in,  with 
a  bound  and  a  jump,  saying,  "  I  want  some  water,  mother. 
Anna,  get  me  a  drink."  I  obeyed  ;  accustomed  to  do  what 
would  best  ensure  quiet,  for  the  wayward  boy  well  knew 
that  his  mother's  aversion  to  any  trouble  or  disturbance 
gave  him  much  power.  "  Hurrah  !"  said  he,  "  father  is 
coming  home  to  night :  he  will  bring  me  a  present  ;"  and 
swinging  his  hat  around,  it  brushed  my  hair,  dislodged  the 
comb  that  confined  it,  and  swept  my  long  clustering  locks 
all  over  my  face,  leaving  my  new  comb  —no  trifling  matter 
to  me,  then — in  fragments  on  the  floor.  Angry  and  vexed, 
I  caught  the  offending  hat  and  threw  it  out  of  the  open  win- 
dow. He  sprang  towards  me  with  a  menacing  air  and 
clenched  fist,  and  appealed  loudly  to  his  mother.  I  know 
not  what  scene  might  have  ensued,  but  my  aunt,  who  was 
just  trying  to  hush  the  baby  to  sleep,  vexed  with  the  noise, 
gave  us  each  a  slap  on  the  ear,  saying  angrily,  as  she  shook 
my  arm,  "  Why  need  you  always  be  meddling  with  him  ? 
There  is  no  peace  in  the  house  when  you  are  together."  I 
stole  away,  feeling  condemned  for  my  share  in  the  uproar, 
yet  with  a  sense  of  injustice  done  me  ;  I  was  stung  to  the 
quick  by  my  aunt's  reproaches,  and  ran  to  my  haunt  under 
2* 


34  HOME. 

the  rose  bashes,  threw  myself  on  the  ground,  and,  in  the  first 
tumult  of  my  childish  passion,  I  tried  to  stop  my  breathing, 
so  that  I  might  die  ;  but  this  violent  mood  was  soon  over. 
Presently  the  tears  ran  ;  first  of  anger,  then  of  grief,  as  I 
thought  of  my  brothers  and  sisters,  the  playmates  of  my 
infancy  ;  of  my  father,  too,  and  with  him  came  the  ever-re- 
curring conjectures  concerning  my  new  mother  ;  whether 
she  would  love  me  and  be  kind  to  me,  with  a  vague,  unde- 
fined misgiving  on  this  point ;  yet  my  heart  bounded  at  the 
thought  of  home,  and  I  wished,  oh,  how  much,  for  wings  to 
fly  like  a  bird  straight  to  my  father's  house,  whither  I  bad 
been  for  weeks  expecting,  with  the  eagerness  of  childhood, 
an  opportunity  to  return. 

But  I  was  a  light-hearted  child,  seldom  retaining  long  in 
my  heart  sad  or  angry  feelings,  and  when  evening  came,  I 
had  quite  forgotten  the  whole  affair,  heartily  joined  in  the 
lively  talk  and  curious  conjectures  as  to  what  present  each 
one  would  have,  for  my  uncle  had  been  on  a  journey  to  Bos- 
ton— no  slight  event  in  those  days  of  slow  and  difficult  tra- 
velling— and  now  his  return  was  eagerly  watched  for  by  the 
children. 

A  fire  had  been  lighted  in  the  kitchen,  for  it  was  a  cool 
October  evening,  and  we  were  around  it,  listening  at  inter- 
vals for  the  sound  of  his  wheels. 

"  But  he  won't  bring  you  any  present,"  said  Harvey, 
whose  good-nature  towards  me  was  not  yet  restored,  "it  is 
not  your  father,  but  only  your  uncle. " 

I  had  been  doubtfully  revolving  the  same  idea  myself,  and 
was  therefore  the  more  easily  vexed  by  his  unkind  sugges- 
tion. 


TEAKS    AND   SMILES.  35 

"  I  think  he  ought  to  bring  me  one  as  well  as  you,  I  am 
older  than  you,"  was  my  reply. 

"  But  I  know  he  won't,"  said  he  ;  "  will  he,  mother  ?" 

"  Husb,  children,"  said  my  aunt,  "  don't  be  troublesome." 

"  He  promised  me,  he  did  not  promise  you  any  present, 
v.nna,"  persisted  Harvey. 

"Be  qciov,  can't  you,  till  he  comes,  and  then  you  will  all 
wse  what  he  brings,"  said  she. 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  home,  then  my  father  would  bring  me 
something,"  I  exclaimed  pettishly,  "  I  hate  to  stay  here." 

"  You  are  trouble  enough  here,  I  am  sure,"  said  ray  aunt ; 
"  you  and  Harvey  are  always  quarrelling." 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  away  to-morrow,"  said  Harvey. 

Tears  would  come  into  my  eyes,  in  spite  of  my  most  stub- 
born efforts,  and  I  sobbed  bitterly. 

"  What  a  foolish  child,"  said  my  aunt  ;  then  added, 
soothingly,  "  Don't  mind  what  a  little  boy  says." 

Just  then  tie  wagon  was  heard  outside  ;  the  children  ran 
to  the  door,  and  in  the  confusion  of  the  arrival  I  escaped 
into  a  little  dark  tyeu-room,  and  hid  my  face  in  the  pillow  ; 
nor  did  I  come  from  ray  place  of  concealment  till  after  a 
time,  peeping  out,  I  perocived  my  uncle  seated  at  the  sup- 
per table  ;  a  strange  boy  with  him  excited  my  curiosity,  and 
I  crept  softly  round  to  the  corner  behind  the  cradle,  where, 
unnoticed,  I  could  scan  the  face  of  the  new-comer.  He  was 
a  tall  lad,  of  forward  bearing,  looked  about  boldly,  and 
spoke  in  a  loud  voice  that  altogether  impressed  me  disagree- 
ably, and  made  me  hope  he  would  not  spy  me.  I  soon 
found  out  that  this  was  Rupert  Q  ill,  the  eldest  son  of  my 


36 

new  mother.  He  had  come  from  Dorchester  with  his  uncle 
— for  Uncle  Huntly  was  his  mother's  brother — his  residence 
being  in  that  place  with  twofold  maiden  aunts. 

He  was  now  going  to  visit  his  mother,  as  I  learned  from 
the  conversation,  and  as  it  would  afford  an  opportunity  for 
my  return  to  Wayland,  it  was  proposed  that  I  should 
accompany  him,  an  idea  that  I  did  not  at  all  like  at  first, 
much  as  I  longed  to  go  to  my  own  home  ;  for  the  appear- 
ance of  this  boy  did  not  prepossess  me  in  his  favor. 

Meantime  he  kept  on  talking  in  a  brisk  tone,  quite  at  his 
ease. 

"  What  is  your  name,  little  fellow  ?"  said  he,  flippantly, 
to  Harvey  ;  "  why,  you  are  nothing  but  a  musquito  ;  you 
don't  remember  cousin  Rupert,  hey  ?" 

But  without  stopping  for  an  answer,  "  How  long  is  it 
since  I  was  here  before,  Uncle  Johu  ?"  said  he,  turning  to 
my  uncle. 

I  looked  up  at  him,  wondering  at  the  bold,  confident 
manner  in  which  he  addressed  my  Uncle  Huntley,  who  had 
always  inspired  me  with  so  much  fear. 

Aunt  Hannah  called  me  to  her  presently,  and  said  to 
him,  "  This  is  Anna  Leland,  Rupert  ;  your  mother  is  hers 
now." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  leer  in  his  eye  and  the  bold  stare 
with  which  he  regarded  me,  while  he  said  in  a  mocking 
tone, 

"  You're  a  sly  puss,  I'll  warrant." 

This  summary  disposal  of  my  character  did  not  increase 
my  liking  towards  the  new-comer. 


TEARS   AND   SMILES.  37 

"  I  should  think,  Rupert,"  said  my  aunt,  "  you  would  be 
very  glad  to  visit  your  mother  in  her  new  home." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  he,  carelessly.  "  She  is  far  enough 
into  the  bushes,  I  should  think.  Is  it  all  woods  there  ?" 

"  It  is  a  very  good  place,"  said  Uncle  Huntley,  rather 
tartly,  which  put  a  stop  to  the  conversation. 

Meantime  the  children  had  been  hovering  round  their 
father's  chair,  and,  after  some  solicitation,  the  presents  were 
produced. 

Harvey  was  made  perfectly  happy  by  the  possession  of  a 
miniature  gun,  and  Mary  not  less  so,  by  a  sugar  man  with  a 
pipe  in  his  mouth.  We  were  all  in  the  best  possible  humor  ; 
I  quite  forgot  myself  in  my  delight  in  the  new  toys.  Har- 
vey played  with  his  gun,  which  went  off  with  a  snap,  pre- 
tending over  and  over  again  to  shoot  Mary  and  me,  each 
time  with  new  bursts  of  merriment. 

I  saw  no  present  for  myself  that  night,  but  my  mind  was 
too  much  engrossed  with  the  thought  of  going  home,  to 
dwell  upon  the  omission. 

The  next  morning,  however,  I  was  delighted  to  receive  a 
little  reticule,  the  prettiest  I  had  ever  seen,  which  had  been 
sent  me  from  Boston,  by  my  Aunt  Hastings,  the  aunt  for 
whom  I  was  named.  Nothing  since  has  looked  more  beau- 
tiful to  my  eyes,  than  did  that  gay,  silken  bag,  and  my  joy 
was  complete  when  I  found  within  it  a  tiny  thimble  and  a 
shining  pair  of  scissors. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  ?"  asked  Aunt  Hannah. 

"  It  is  beautiful  1"  I  exclaimed — then  added  gravely,  "  If 


38  HOME. 

I  had  been  a  little  girl,  I  might  have  liked  something  else 
better,  bnt  now  nothing  could  please  me  so  well." 

"  Oh  1  indeed,  you  are  quite  a  young  lady,  to  be  sure," 
said  Rupert,  who  was  standing  by,  with  a  laugh  and  a  tone 
that  sent  the  blood  into  my  cheeks  with  sudden  mortifica- 
tion, and  I  hastened  from  the  room,  wondering  what  I  had 
said  to  excite  ridicule,  for  my  aunt  too  smiled  at  this 
assumption  of  womanly  airs. 

Tne  next  day,  the  bluff,  jovial,  self-important,  but  not  ill- 
natured  boy,  went  with  me  to  my  father's  house — his  mo- 
ther's new  home.  That  mother  I  longed,  yet  dreaded,  to 
meet,  questioning  with  myself  whether  she  would  be  to  me 
more  like  a  mother  or  an  aunt,  whether  she  would  love  me 
and  be  kind  to  me,  and  doubtful  if  she  could  be  as  really  my 
father's  wife  as  was  my  own  mother. 


HOME  AGAIN — BUPEET.  39 


CHAPTER    VII. 

HOME   AGAIN RUPERT. 

"  He  was  one 

Who  could  not  help  it,  for  'twas  his  nature 
To  flourish  into  glee,  as  'tis  a  tree's 
To  leaf  itself  in  April." 

"  Are  those  hearths  as  bright  as  of  yore,  without  the  shadow  of  our  figure  T" 

I  LEFT  my  Uncle  Huntley's  with  little  or  no  regret,  for, 
though  I  loved  my  cousins,  I  loved  my  dear  brothers  and 
sisters  still  more,  and  my  little  heart  bounded  at  the  thought 
of  being  once  more  among  them  in  my  own  home. 

It  was  a  bright,  cool  morning,  and  as.  we  rode  off  the  ris- 
ing sun  shone  out,  clear  and  sparkling,  upon  the  white-frost 
crystals  which  glistened  upon  every  tiny  spear  of  grass  and 
every  leafy  shrub.  I  did  not  enjoy  the  journey  much,  for 
the  arrogant  airs  of  my  new  acquaintance,  and  his  continual 
bantering,  made  me  a  little  afraid  of  him,  and  quite  uncom- 
fortable. 

Late  in  the  day  we  reached  the  bank  of  a  small  stream. 
The  little  shattered  bridge  had  been  washed  away  by  a  sud- 
den rise  of  water,  occasioned  by  heavy  rains. 

"  Whew  1"  said  Rupert,  looking  about  with  pretended 
anxiety  ;  "  We  are  to  have  a  ducking  now,  I  guess.  What 
do  you  think  of  that,  Nanny,  eh  ?" 


4:0  HOME. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  I  ventured  to  inquire. 

"  Do  ?  Why,  do  as  other  folks  do,  to  be  sure.  If  there 
isn't  any  bridge  to  go  on,  we  must  make  a  bridge  of  the 
water.  Don't  you  know  how  that  is  done  ?  I'll  take  care 
of  the  horse  and  wagon,  and  you  are  so  light,  you  can  skip 
right  over  on  your  feet,  if  you  run  quick" 

"  No,  I  can't,"  said  I,  trying  to  laugh,  yet  slightly 
alarmed  by  his  serious  tone  and  manner. 

"  Well,  I  think  it  is  queer  if  a  great  heavy  man  can  keep 
up,  and  swim  on  the  water,  and  a  little  thing  like  you  can't 
do  it.  That  don't  suit  you,  hey  ?  I'll  get  on  the  horse  and 
ride  over,  then,  and  you  may  sit  in  the  wagon  and  roll 
right  along  after  me." 

I  was  tired,  and  having  been  worried  all  day  by  his  teaz 
ing,  began  to  feel  really  alarmed.  I  could  contain  myself 
no  longer,  and  burst  out  into  violent  sobbing  and  crying. 

"  There,  there,"  said  he,  half  laughing,  but  now  really  in 
earnest,  "  I  didn't  mean  anything.  I'll  get  you  over,  safe 
and  sound.  The  water  isn't  deep  ;  can't  you  see  the  stones 
at  the  bottom  ?  We  can  ride  through  it  easily.  Come, 
cheer  up,  that's  my  lady.  You  are  my  sister,  you  know, 
and  I  am  going  to  take  grand  good  care  of  you."  Then, 
taking  up  a  little  pebble,  he  sent  it  skipping  and  whizzing 
across  the  water. 

"  There,  don't  you  wish  you  could  skip  over  like  that  ? 
I'm  sure  /  do.  I  should  like  to  ride  over  at  that  rate.  Will 
you  throw  it  if  I'll  jump  on  ?" 

I  began  to  laugh  in  spite  of  myself.  As  we  rode  down 
into  the  water,  he  sank  his  voice  into  a  confidential  whisper, 


HOME   AGAIN KUPEKT.  41 

and  said,  "  I  can  see  some  fishes  in  the  water  ;  ain't  you 
afraid  we  shall  ride  over  them  and  kill  them  ?  You  won't 
tell  anybody  if  we  do,  will  you,  for  you  know  we  can't 
help  it." 

This  was  such  a  funny  idea  to  me,  that  I  laughed  heartily, 
and  quite  reassured,  began  to  feel  less  afraid  of  my  strange 
companion,  and  even  to  relish  his  comical  jokes. 

At  length  our  journey  was  ended,  and  ah  !  that  meeting, 
in  which  joy,  sorrow,  and  fear,  were  strangely  blended  1 

I  cried  heartily,  amid"  kisses  and  embraces.  My  beloved 
father  1  how  tenderly  he  took  me  in  his  arms  and  welcomed 
me  home  ;  saying,  in  his  quiet,  solemn  way,  "  God  grant, 
my  dear  little  daughter  may  live  to  be  a  blessing  to  her 
father."  He  greeted  Rupert  kindly,  who  seemed  awed  by 
his  mild  dignity,  looking  really  a  little  abashed.  Presently 
his  mother  appeared,  and  advancing  to  her  son,  she  loudly 
exclaimed,  "  Why,  Rupert,  you  are  almost  a  man  !  I  de- 
clare I  am  quite  afraid  of  you  !"  evidently  admiring  his 
dashing,  bold,  and  forward  air. 

"  And  here's  my  little  lady  come  home,  too.  Why, 
you're  not  sorry,  are  you  ?  Come  here  ;  we  are  old  acquain- 
tances, you  know." 

But  I  shrank  away,  ran  out  the  door,  and  cried  more 
heartily  than  before.  Bessy,  following,  encircled  me  lovingly 
in  her  arms,  and  gently  led  me  round  the  corner  of  the 
house,  talking  cheerfully,  and  called  Hester  and  Willie  from 
their  play. 

"  You  have  not  grown  so  fast  as  Hester  ;  see,  she  is  as 
tall  as  you."  Then  placing  us  side  by  side,  she  pressed  our 


4:2  HOME. 

cheeks  together,  then  oar  lips  and  noses,  saying,  "  You  are 
two  little  Chinese  girls  now.  Do  you  know  they  always 
touch  noses  when  they  meet  ?" 

Little  Willie  would  say  nothing  to  me,  but  held  by 
Bessy's  apron.  It  soon  began  to  grow  dark,  and  we  all 
went  into  the  house  again. 

And  now,  how  distinctly  the  picture  comes  up  before  me  I 
A  bright  fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  for  the  chil' 
autumnal  winds  were  giving  notice  of  the  coming  winter 
My  new  mother  was  bustling  about,  preparing  the  evening 
meal.  The  family  were  all  together  once  more.  Bessy  led 
me  to  my  father's  side,  who  was  in  his  accustomed  seat,  a 
settee — or  settle,  as  it  was  then  called — in  one  corner  of 
the  ample  fire-place. 

Huge  shadows  flickered  on  the  low  walls  of  the  large, 
old-fashioned  kitchen,  dimly  lighted  by  the  uncertain  blaze 
from  the  wood  fire. 

Mary,  now  sixteen,  well-grown  and  really  handsome,  was 
seated  by  Rupert,  who,  with  his  very  best  air,  was  parrying 
with  his  jokes  her  lively  sallies,  both  in  high  glee. 

Grace  and  Alger  sat  opposite  to  them,  in  one  chair,  mak- 
ing, by  signs,  mute  comments  on  the  new-comer,  glancing 
at  him  from  time  to  time.  I  slid  from  my  father's  arm  and 
joined  them  ;  Hester  took  my  hand,  and  we  were  soon  in 
lively  conversation,  mostly  carried  on  in  pantomime.  Bessy 
was  helping  our  mother.  She  was  taller  than  Mary,  but 
stooped  a  little,  as  if  called  to  exert  her  growing  strength 
too  much,  and  her  countenance  wore  an  anxious  look. 

After  sapper,  my  father  took  the  family  Bible,  and  all 


HOME   AGAIN EUPEET.  43 

was  hushed  in  silence,  while  he  read  from  its  sacred  pages, 
and  then,  in  his  own  deep,  earnest  tones,  commended  his 
little  flock  to  the  care  and  guidance  of  the  God  of  their 
Fathers. 

Again  I  felt  that  I  was  at  home — as  if  the  past  two  years 
had  been  obliterated. 


44  HOME. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

PINE    MOUNTAIN   AND    VALLEY    BROOK. 

"  High  hill  and  valley  deep, 

Where  nature's  beauties  sleep, 
Unknown,  unnoticed  by  the  crowd  of  men." 

MY  father's  dwelling,  in  truth,  was  not  situated  in  Val- 
ley Brook,  nor  yet  upon  the  grove-dappled  terrace  which 
overlooked  its  smiling  verdure  and  calm  beauty. 

A  road  from  the  valley,  leading  up  its  side  to  the  steep, 
rocky  brow  of  the  hill,  wound  circuitously  round,  joining  the 
main  turnpike  at  a  little  distance  ;  while  a  lane,  branching 
off,  gained  the  summit  by  a  gentle  acclivity,  and  brought  to 
view  the  little  brown  cottage,  situated  a  few  rods  down  the 
green  slope,  and  half  hidden  by  a  clump  of  cherry  trees. 
Only  one  other  house  was  visible,  and  over  its  roof  the 
wooded  top  of  Pine  Mountain  appeared,  rearing  its  graceful 
crest.  The  outer  declivity  of  the  hilly  ridge,  unlike  the 
steep  side  toward  the  valley,  formed  a  long  sweep  of  wood- 
land and  pasture,  with  here  and  there  a  cultivated  field. 
The  soil  was  deep  and  strong,  and  well  repaid  the  labor  of 
tillage,  though  the  whole  region  seemed  based  upon  a  vast 
ledge  of  granite  ;  sometimes  the  moss-covered  surface  of  the 
rock  just  peeped  above  the  ground  ;  again  it  stood  piled  up 
in  bold  precipices,  with  overhanging  trees  and  shrubs,  wild 


PINE  MOUNTAIN  AND  VALLEY  BROOK.       45 

flowers  and  creeping  plants,  springing  from  each  fissure  and 
crevice. 

The  sweetest  berries  grew  around  those  rocks,  and  the 
cows  tbat  fed  upon  the  patches  of  soil  hid  and  interspersed 
among  the  crags  and  ledges,  furnished  the  richest  milk  and 
produced  the  best  of  butter.  The  growth  of  fruit,  too,  was 
remarkably  fine  and  abundant.  There  was  an  orchard  on 
either  side  of  the  house,  where  more  than  one  tree  drooped 
its  boughs,  heavy  with  golden  fruit,  over  a  broad  ledge  or  a 
steep  rock. 

We  were  a  busy  and  frugal  family,  for  it  required  the 
united  exertions  of  all  to  bar  want  from  the  door  ;  to  pro- 
cure the  comforts,  or  even  the  necessaries  of  life. 

My  father  was  careful,  industrious,  exact,  and  methodical 
in  the  management  of  his  affairs,  so  as  to  secure  always  a 
uniform,  comfortable  provision  for  his  large  family.  Another 
little  brother,  and  ere  long  a  sister,  were  added  to  our  num- 
ber, which,  with  my  stepmother's  youngest  son,  consisted  of 
ten  children,  to  be  fed,  clothed,  and  educated. 

The  state  of  the  country  for  some  years  after  peace  was 
declared,  was  unsettled,  and  far  from  prosperous.  Taxes 
were  enormous,  and  bore  heavily  on  the  pioneer  settlers,  for 
the  country  was  new,  and  quite  inaccessible  to  the  sources 
of  wealth  found  in  the  older  cities  and  villages  along  the 
sea-shore. 

A  frock  of  calico  was  the  greatest  luxury  of  dress  that 
could  be  afforded  by  females  in  that  retired  district.  The 
wedding  dress  of  our  mother  was  a  wonder  of  beauty  to  our 
childish  eyes  ;  it  was  of  green  calico,  nearly  covered  with 


46  HOME. 

large  gay  fignres  of  yellow,  red,  and  bine  ;  its  cost  yer  yard 
was  one  dollar  and  twenty  cents  ;  and  for  many  years  it 
was  the  dress  she  wore  at  every  wedding,  quilting,  or  social 
party. 

Young  girls  ordinarily  wore  a  short  slip  of  calico  or  cam- 
bric, over  a  skirt  of  home-made  materials  ;  and  busy  must 
be  their  hands,  when  not  only  must  they  perform  all  the 
every-day  labors  of  the  household,  found  so  arduous  by  the 
young  ladies  of  the  present  generation,  but  they  must  also 
both  spin  and  weave.  Through  their  patient  industry,  wool 
and  flax  must  be  converted  from  the  raw  material,  into  win- 
ter and  summer  garments,  table-linen,  and  the  complete 
habiliments  of  the  bed,  from  the  coarse  tow  covering  of  the 
straw  mattress,  to  the  fine  linen  sheets,  "  whiter  than  snow, 
laid  up  carefully  with  fragrant  herbs,  the  thrifty  house- 
wife's stores." 

With  the  early  spring  began  the  task  to  be  performed  by 
persevering  toil.  The  preparation  of  the  flax  was  the  work 
of  men  and  boys,  the  breaking  and  hatcheling,  by  which  the 
finer  threads  were  separated  from  the  coarser  and  shorter 
portions  of  tow.  Then,  winding  the  silky  fibres  around  the 
distaff,  the  females  began  the  work  of  spinning,  which  is  bnt 
the  first  step  in  the  busy  process  of  household  manufactures. 
Even  after  the  web  is  woven,  the  cloth  made,  the  whitening, 
or  bleaching  it  upon  the  grass,  is  still  the  work  of  many 
days.  Many  a  pail  of  water  must  be  carried  out,  the  cloth 
folded  together,  then  thoroughly  wetted,  and  again  spread 
out  in  the  warm  sun,  that  the  rapid  evaporation  of  moisture 
may  aid  in  its  bleaching. 


PINE  MOUNTAIN  AND  VALLEY  BEOOK.       47 

Nor  was  school  forgotten  or  neglected,  in  the  midst  of  all 
these  labors.  In  winter,  the  only  season  of  comparative 
leisure,  we  wended  our  way,  a  light-hearted,  merry  troop, 
down  the  steep,  rocky  road,  then  through  the  dark,  still, 
pine  woods,  and  across  the  rude  bridge,  to  the  old  school- 
house,  even  now  standing  as  in  those  long-past  days,  on  the 
brink  of  the  brook  ;  the  "  brick  school-house,"  as  it  was 
called,  par  eminence  ;  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  structure, 
evidencing  in  the  solidity  of  its  walls,  and  the  expense  laid 
out  in  its  erection,  the  value  set  upon  the  means  of  educa- 
tion by  those  worthy  pioneers,  and  their  belief  in  the  neces- 
sity of  permanence  in  such  institutions.  It  was  more  than 
a  mile  from  our  own  house,  but  we  thought  it  no  hardship, 
though  not  clad  in  furs,  to  bound  through  the  deep  snows, 
in  face  of  the  fierce  blasts  of  a  New  England  winter,  till  we 
reached  our  destination;  stopping,  however,  at  each  house — 
they  were  but^  two — to  warm.  Well  do  I  remember  the 
matron  of  one  of  these  cottages,  good  Mrs.  Govey,  who 
would  watch  for  our  coming,  and  meet  us  at  her  door,  with 
her  warmed  woolen  apron  to  wrap  our  aching  hands  ;  then 
she  would  seat  us  on  stools  before  the  fire,  pleasantly  talk- 
ing with  us  all  the  while.  Noble  woman  1  Though  acquain- 
ted with  constant,  severe  trial,  and  many  privations,  yet  she 
had  a  heart  full  to  overflowing  of  kindness  ;  a  spirit  which 
could  patiently  and  tranquilly  endure  the  churlishness  of 
her  strange,  austere,  rough,  and  unpliant  husband.  Mr. 
Govey,  or  "  Old  Govey,"  as  he  was  usually  termed,  was  a 
singular  mixture  of  shrewdness,  oddity,  and  ugliness.  His 
eyes  were  so  much  turned,  or  crossed,  that  he  could  not  see 


4:8  HOME. 

what  was  directly  before  him  ;  turning,  squinting,  and  con- 
tracting his  eye-brows  and  forehead,  as  if  the  organ  of  vision 
was  in  his  ears.  He  was  totally  indifferent  to  the  claims  of 
propriety  in  dress,  seeming  to  be  best  suited  with  the  most 
uncouth  habiliments.  His  spirit  of  contradiction  was 
remarkable,  always  trying  to  eonfound  and  silence  one  by 
a  rough  retort,  especially  in  matters  of  religion  by  a  sudden 
or  strange,  and  seemingly  malicious,  perversion  of  some  part 
of  the  Bible.  He  was  well-informed,  reading — or  rather 
having  his  children  read  to  him,  for  he  could  not  see — every 
thing  that  came  in  his  way. 

Strictly  honest,  and  very  industrious,  "  Old  Govey  "  had 
amassed  a  comfortable  property,  yet  so  churlish  was  he, 
and  so  niggardly,  even  to  his  own  family,  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  bis  wife  could  obtain  the  needful  supplies  of  house- 
hold comforts. 

Many  tales  were  told  among  his  neighbors  of  his  unkind 
and  sharp  replies  to  common  questions  and  remarks,  and  he 
was  never  known  to  grant  a  favor  without  the  accompani- 
ment of  surly,  ungracious  words. 

Being  sent  one  day  by  my  father  to  borrow  of  him  a 
carpenter's  tool,  I  timidly  made  known  my  errand,  remain- 
ing partly  behind  him  ;  turning  sharply  round,  and  twisting 
his  stern,  contracted  features  into  a  grim  frown,  he  answered, 
in  a  loud,  quick  tone,  "  Yes  ;  and  bring  it  back  the  minute 
he  has  done  with  it,  or  I'll  cut  your  head  off.''  Though 
frightened,  and  glad  to  get  away  as  soon  as  possible,  the 
rough  reply  was  no  matter  of  surprise  to  me.  Uncle  Har- 
ry, living  near,  once  sent  a  boy  to  him  for  some  trifling  aid 


PINE   MOUNTAIN   AND   VALLEY   BKOOK.  4:9 

in  his  work,  and  was  tartly  repulsed  with  a  direct  refusal, 
causing  my  uncle  some  inconvenience.  The  same  day, 
Aunt  Kathy,  his  wife,  chanced  to  receive  a  present  of  some 
nice  honey.  Knowing  her  surly  neighbor  to  be  remarkably 
fond  of  this  luxury,  she  took  a  portion  of  it  and  carried  it 
herself  to  his  cottage,  pleasantly  asking  him,  in  her  own 
graceful  manner,  to  share  with  her.  Touched  with  shame 
at  this  kind  return  for  his  moroseness,  he  struck  both  his 
hands  on  his  head,  loudly  exclaiming,  "  Oh  !  you  burn  me, 
you  burn  me  ;  you  heap  coals  of  fire  on  my  head  !" 

To  all  his  harshness  and  ill-nature,  his  excellent  wife  was 
never  known  to  reply  but  in  mild  and  pleasant  tones,  and 
one  of  our  neighbors  quaintly  remarked,  "  Old  Govy  has 
one  redeeming  quality,  and  that  is  his  wife." 

But  to  return  to  our  description.  At  a  casual  glance 
Valley  Brook  would  seem  to  comprise  almost  the  whole  of 
Wayland.  The  rich  meadows  and  well-tilled  uplands 
evinced  prosperity  and  thrift ;  already  the  buzz  and  noise 
of  the  busy  wheels  of  machinery  were  heard,  while  the  whirr 
of  mills  and  the  rush  of  waterfalls,  made  by  intersecting 
dams,  announced  that  the  quiet  stream  was  made  to  sub- 
serve the  purposes  of  wealth  to  the  inhabitants. 

The  passing  traveller  might  well  look  back  and  linger  as 
he  left  this  charming  valley  and  turned  his  steps  towards 
the  narrow  and  craggy  road,  through  the  gap,  and  pursued 
his  solitary  way.  Above  him,  on  one  side,  was  the  steep, 
overhanging  mountain  ;  on  the  other,  the  wild  tangled 
ravine,  with  its  deep  gurgling  brook.  Slowly  ascending,  he 
emerges  at  length  on  an  uneven,  rocky  bluff,  and  there 
3 


50     %        .  HOME. 

stands  the  small,  plain,  weather-beaten  church  of  Wayland, 
a  few  mean  houses  gathered  near  it,  but  all  looking  dreary 
and  forlorn. 

As  he  journeys  on  the  aspect  becomes  still  less  inviting, 
till  he  exclaims,  "  What  a  barren,  desolate  region  1"  Yet 
hidden  behind  the  hills,  in  the  shade  of  chestnut  groves,  or 
among  the  dark  pines,  was  many  a  snug  old-fashioned  farm- 
house, a  sheltering  nest  for  sturdy  sons  and  fair  daughters. 

On  Sundays  that  lone  church  was  well  filled,  the  congre- 
gation gathering  in  cheerful  groups  from  every  by-road  and 
lane.  The  parents  on  horseback,  the  universal  mode  of 
riding,  the  wife  on  a  pillion  behind  her  husband,  while  a 
walk  of  two  or  three  miles  to  church  was  deemed  by  the 
young,  no  hardship. 

Ah,  how  vividly  does  memory- paint  the  picture  of  my 
childhood's  home  !  Much  do  I  recollect,  too,  of  the  sunny 
hours  of  careless  play  in  the  open  air.  Each  familiar  haunt 
is  before  me,  even  now  !  The  broad  flat  rock  at  the 
top  of  the  hill  above  our"  house,  where,  after  every 
shower,  the  water  stood  in  tiny  pools — where  were  innume- 
rable little  crevices,  corners,  and  cunning  nooks,  charming 
as  the  haunts  of  fairy-land  to  our  merry  young  hearts — 
this  was  our  favorite  resort  at  the  close  of  the  long,  bright 
summer-day,  when  the  sunset  beams  cast  the  long  slant 
shadows  in  fantastic  forms,  and  the  gathering  dews  of  even- 
ing brought  refreshing  coolness. 

The  large,  wild  pasture,  too,  where  we  skipped  among 
the  rocks,  or  followed  the  winding,  shady  paths  looking 
with  awe  at  the  towering  crags,  and  the  dim  depths  of  the 


PINE  MOUNTAIN  AND  VALLEY  BROOK.      51 

dark  old  woods.  The  Indian  kettles,  too,  as  we  called 
them,  were  objects  of  much  curiosity,  then  supposed  to  be 
relics  of  the  children  of  the  forest,  exciting,  in  later  years, 
still  greater  interest  with  geologists  as  marking  the  action 
of  water,  and  consequently  an  evidence  that  the  whole 
region  must  at  no  distant  period  have  been  submerged. 
They  were  round,  smooth  cavities,  of  varying  size,  some 
several  feet  deep,  others  capable  of  holding  a  quart  or  two, 
some  still  smaller.  We  supposed  them  the  work  of  Indians, 
made  to  pound  their  corn  in  perhaps,  and  much  we  won- 
dered and  fancied  about  their  wild  haunts  and  habita- 
tions. 

The  berries  and  the  nuts,  too,  that  we  picked  !  larger 
and  sweeter  they  seemed  than  any  now  do.  Those  chest- 
nuts !  We  knew  the  place  of  each  particular  tree.  In  the 
brisk  air  of  a  November  morning,  how  cheerily  we  tripped 
forth,  with  bags  and  baskets.  The  elder  boys  climbed  the 
tree,  or  beat  the  branches  with  long  poles,  while  our 
bright  eyes  searched  among  the  crisp  grass  for  the  shining 
brown  nuts,  and  nimble  fingers  gathered  our  winter 
store. 

Oh,  joyous  playmates  of  my  merry  childhood  !  loved  and 
loving  companions  of  my  hopeful,  happy  youth  !  How  does 
my  heart  warm,  and  how  do  my  eyes  grow  dim,  as  these 
fairy  visions  start  up  before  my  mind.  Alas  !  of  all  your 
blooming  circle  there  now  remain  to  me  only  Bessy  and 
Hester  ;  and  where  is  the  free,  glad  step  of  the  one,  where 
the  careless  gaiety  of  the  other  ?  Ah  !  instead,  the  lines 


52  HOME. 

of  sorrow  and  the  burden  of  years  are  deeply  traced  in  the 
pale,  withered  cheek,  the  stooping,  tottering  gait.  But 
Time  can  only  touch  the  outward  form,  the  heart  and  the 
affection  are  still  unchanged. 


MY   GRANDPARENTS.  53 


CHAPTER    IX. 

1C  T     GRANDPARENTS. 

"  The  good  die  not." 

DOWN  the  green  slope  behind  the  house,  over  some  broken 
ground,  in  a  sort  of  dell  or  hollow,  stood  the  nearest  cot- 
tage, by  the  side  of  a  little  brook,  shaded  with  large  old 
trees.  In  that  rude,  yet  romantic  spot,  my  grandfather 
Leland  had,  many  years  before,  made  himself  a  home.  Here, 
almost  alone,  amid  the  savage  wildness  of  untamed  nature, 
he  had  labored  to  win  from  the  flinty  soil  its  hard-earned 
products  for  the  support  of  his  large  family.  Here  had  been 
my  father's  early  home,  and  it  was  now  occupied  by  his 
youngest  brother,  Uncle  Harry  Leland,  between  whom  and 
my  father  subsisted  a  most  tender  brotherly  affection.  Not 
a  day  passed  in  which  they  did  not  meet,  always  with  kindest 
greetings.  My  father  had  a  cheerful,  yet  serene  temper, 
and  seemed  to  live  constantly  under  the  influence  of  the 
religion  he  professed.  Uncle  Harry  was  gentle  in  his  ways, 
but  had  a  merry,  frolicksome  humor,  ever  with  a  smile  on 
his  lips,  and  a  word  of  fun  for  the  children,  who  all  loved 
him  dearly.  Aunt  Kathy,  his  wife,  was  Df  a  pale,  delicate 
mien,  with  a  soft  voice,  seeming  the  impersonation  of  good- 
ness and  love,  and  her  beautiful  baby-boy  was,  in  my  eyes, 
the  most  lovely  of  children.  After  a  few  years,  however, 


54:  HOME. 

Uncle  Harry  removed  to  a  distant  town.  This  was,  at  the 
time,  a  sore  grief  to  us,  for  we  all  loved  most  dearly  our 
jovial  uncle  and  his  gentle  wife  ;  and  especially  the  darling 
little  one  was  the  great  object  of  our  childish  admiration, 
and  to  be  permitted  to  go  to  "  the  other  house,"  as  it  was 
familiarly  termed,  was  a  special  delight  and  favor  to  any  of 
us.  The  old  house — a  mere  hut — fell  into  decay,  and 
scarce  a  vestige  now  remains  to  mark  the  place  where  it 
stood. 

But  a  single  reflection  is  left  me  of  my  grandfather 
Leland — his  animated,  earnest  prayers,  when  so  old  and 
infirm  as  to  be  unable  to  rise  from  his  chair. 

My  dear  and  venerated  grandmother  I  well  remember, 
then  quite  aged,  with  her  meek,  placid  face,  as  she  sat  in  the 
easy-chair  in  the  corner,  the  little  round  table  by  her  side, 
on  which  lay  alternately,  her  knitting-work  and  her  Bible, 
her  constant  companions.  Earthly  things  were  fading,  as  a 
feverish  dream,  and  she  was  tranquilly  awaiting  her  sum- 
mons to  a  brighter  world.  She  passed  quietly  away,  was 
laid  in  her  peaceful  grave,  and  the  busy  world  moved  on. 

She  was  well-known  and  well-beloved  in  that  region. 
After  the  death  of  my  own  mother,  she  used  frequently  to 
come  walking  up  across  the  field,  supported  by  her  cane, 
and  sit  all  day  mending  garments  for  us.  It  was  a  great 
treat  for  any  of  us  to  walk  back  with  her.  At  the  half-way 
stone  she  would  sit  down  to  rest,  talking  kindly  of  our  little 
affairs,  or  giving  us  advice  how  to  take  care  of  our  clothes, 
and  many  useful  hints  in  house-keeping. 

I  have  been  told  by  those  who  knew  her  in  her  younger 


MY    GKANDPARENT8.  65 

days,  that  she  was  very  energetic  mid  skillt'ui,  as  well  as 
truly  benevolent.  When  the  town  was  new  and  the  inhabi- 
tants few  in  number,  her  superior  intelligence  and  skill  ena- 
bled her  to  act  as  a  physician.  In  extreme  cases  of  sick- 
ness, she  was  frequently  known  to  put  on  boots  and  walk 
through  woods  in  a  dark  night  ;  and  in  more  than  one  in- 
stance she  rode  for  miles,  when  travelling  was  .dangerous,  on 
horseback,  behind  the  messenger  who  went  in  haste  after 
her. 

Nor  were  such  the  only  instances  in  which  were  shown 
her  courage  and  strength  of  character. 

At  one  time,  being  alone  in  her  little  cottage,  far  from 
neighbors,  she  vanquished  a  bear,  with  the  aid  of  the  broom- 
handle.  The  animal  had  seized  upon  her  best  pig,  which  he 
had  already  dragged  several  rods  from  the  pen,  and  was  tug- 
ging with  might  and  main  to  pull  over  a  huge  log  that  lay  in 
his  way.  The  cries  of  the  poor  pig  attracted  the  notice  of 
my  grandmother,  who  ran  out,  and  dealt  such  sturdy  blows 
upon  Bruin's  head  and  face  with  her  weapon,  that,  though 
quite  intent  on  his  spoils,  he  relinquished  his  prey,  and 
made  good  his  retreat. 

Hers  was  true  heroism,  for  such  we  may  justly  call  that 
courage  that  conquers  perils,  overcomes  difficulties  and  hard- 
ships, by  patient  endurance  and  active  exertion. 

In  her  faithful  performance  of  the  duties  of  her  more  hum- 
ble and  limited  sphere,  we  recognize  the  same  qualities  that 
distinguished  the  noble  women  whose  names  are  honored  by 
fame,  cherished  and  embalmed  in  our  hearts  with  the  memo- 
ries of  great  deeds. 


56  HOME. 

Her  great-grandchildren  are  now  acting  their  several 
parts  in  the  crowded  arena  of  life,  scattered  over  the  laud, 
from  the  borders  of  Maine  to  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi— on 
the  broad  slopes  and  snn-Kt  glades  of  Ohio — among  the  fair, 
fertile  fields  of  New  York,  and  on  the  vast  prairies  of  the 
West.  Some  are  merchants  in  our  polished  Atlantic  cities  ; 
some  are  farmers  on  the  quiet  hills,  of  New  England  :  and 
not  a  few  preachers  of  the  gospel.  Could  her  dust  be  re- 
animated, and  she  now  stand  in  the  midst  of  her  descendants 
— no  small  company — she  would  see  many  of  them,  thanks 
to  her  covenant  God,  her  children  indeed,  in  faith  and  piety. 

Who  can  say  how  much  of  present  blessing  we  receive 
in  answer  to  the  prayers  of  our  pious  and  self-denying  fore- 
fathers ? 

We  do  indeed  venerate  the  memory  and  virtues  of  our 
hardy  ancestors.  Thanks  to  the  influence  of  their  noble 
example  descending  as  the  mantle  of  the  prophet  on  us  their 
children,  we  can  see  the  moral  beauty  of  high  aims,  devoted 
courage,  patient  endurance,  and  earnest  faith  and  truth. 

Yet  to  some,  perchance,  the  simple  record  of  these  unpre- 
tending virtues  may  seem  but  the  common-place  of  every- 
day life,  and  fail  to  awaken  in  their  bosoms  one  spark  of 
generous  feeling  or  noble  admiration  for  the  good  and  the 
true,  the  really  heroic  in  life  and  character.  Fashionable 
idlers  there  are  among  us,  delicate,  soft,  nervous  beings,  who 
weep,  it  may  be,  over  the  vapid  pages  of  some  modern  novel, 
but  are  shocked  into  interesting  helplessness  at  the  sight  of 
real  distress  ;  who  cannot  find  time  for  the  active  duties  of 
life,  amid  their  numerous  engagements.  A  life  of  useful 


MY   GRANDPARENTS.  57 

exertion  for  a  worthy  end,  has  neither  place  in  their  thoughts 
nor  savor  of  beauty  in  their  eyes.  It  is  their  ambition, 
rather,  to  be  admired  by  some  perfumed  lover,  the  round 
of  whose  duties  consists  chiefly  in  the  care  of  his  superb 
moustache,  his  delicate  fingers,  and  gold-headed  cane — whose 
existence  is  alike  barren  and  aimless  as  their  own.  Much 
is  said  of  the  advancement  of  the  present  age,  especially  as 
respects  the  education  of  our  daughters,  and  no  doubt  justly  ; 
they  are  intelligent  and  cultivated,  the  graceful  ornaments 
of  the  drawing-room,  the  charm  of  the  social  circle  ;  but  is 
it  not  to  be  feared  that,  with  all  the  culture,  delicacy,  and 
refinement  of  young  ladies  of  the  present  day,  they  fall,  in 
some  important  respects,  far  below  the  standard  of  those 
noble  women  now,  alas  1  nearly  all  gathered,  as  ripe  sheaves, 
by  the  reaper,  Death  ? 

The  elements  of  a  character,  strong,  high,  enduring — one 
that  stamps  itself  upon  succeeding  generations — :what  are 
they  1 

Are  they  created  by  the  forced,  hot-bed  development  of 
brain,  by  which  the  pale  school-girl  of  sixteen,  urged  on  by 
the  stimulus  of  vanity  and  rivalship,  to  which  that  age  is  so 
susceptible,  has  traversed,  with  her  overwrought,  immature 
mind,  the  circle  of  the  sciences,  and  can  glibly  repeat,  as 
familiar  words,  the  results  of  the  life-long  researches  of  a 
Newton  or  a  Herschel  1 

The  "  well  educated"  young  lady  has,  indeed,  glanced 

over  the  broad  field  of  knowledge  ;  but  neither  basis,  nor 

strength,  has  been  given  to  her  unformed  character  ;  neither 

discipline  nor  steadfastness  to  her  inexperienced  mind.    The 

8* 


58  HOME. 

matrons  of  a  former  age,  making  no  pretensions  to  high- 
sounding  acquirements,  yet  knew  how  to  think  and  reason 
justly  ;  how  to  act  promptly  and  nobly  ;  their  powers  of 
intellect,  heart,  and  conscience,  were  so  trained  as  to  ena- 
ble them  to  take  enlarged  views,  and  form  right  conclusions, 
in  all  the  difficult  circumstances  of  that  period — teeming 
with  great  consequences — in  which  their  lot  was  cast. 


BROTHERS,    SISTERS,    AND   COUSINS.  69 


CHAPTER  X. 


BROTHERS,    SISTERS,    AND    COUSINS. 

\ 

"  They  grew  in  beauty  side  by  side, 
They  filled  one  home  with  glee, 
Their  graves  are  severed  far  and  wide, 
By  mount,  and  stream,  and  sea." 


I  HAVE  before  inentione^that  my  grandfather  Lyle  owned 
a  considerable  tract  of  land,  upon  which  his  eldest  sons 
early  settled,  in  Wayland. 

Uncle  Francis  Lyle  died  loon  after  his  father,  and'  his 
brother,  my  Uncle  James,  lived  on  the  farm,  which  was 
large  aud  productive,  some  two  or  three  miles  from  us. 
This  uucle  was  regarded  by  us  with  scarcely  less  reverence 
and  affection  than  our  own  father.  He  was  of  noble  and 
commanding  appearance,  and  his  knowledge  and  long  resi- 
dence gave  him  much  sway  and  influence  with  his  townsmen. 
He  had  twelve  children,  eight  of  them  daughters  ;  two  mar- 
ried before  my  remembrance,  some  of  nearly  my  own  age, 
some  much  older. 

Their  father  took  much  pride  in  his  large,  promising 
family  ;  and  justly  might  such  a  group  be  a  parent's  delight. 
The  girls  were  handsome,  lively,  and  reckoned  sufficiently 
accomplished  in  the  requisites  of  female  education  in  that 
day. 


I  may  say,  that  personal  beauty  was  an  attribute  of  my 
mother's  family  ;  finely  rounded  forms,  clear,  sparkling  eyes, 
and  delicate  fairness  of  complexion  ;  such  were  my  cousins, 
such  were  our  own  Grace  and  Alger.  Mary's  beauty  was 
of  a  different  style — hers  was  the  full,  dark  hazel  eye,  the 
vivid  bloom  of  the  Lelands. 

Uncle  James'  daughters,  though  our  frequent  companions 
and  most  intimate  associates,  yet  being  richer,  better 
dressed,  and  in  many  respects  possessing  higher  advantages 
than  we,  were  naturally  enough  not  insensible  to  their 
claims  of  superiority. 

We  were  restricted  by  the  straightened  circumstances  of 
our  father's  large  and  increasing  family,  and  above  all  by 
the  unwillingness  manifested  by  our  mother  to  grant  any 
gratification  or  advantage  tjfmy  father's  elder  children, 
seeming  to  consider  all  such  expenditures  as  so  much  taken 
from  her  own. 

My  three  elder  sisters  only  attended  school  during  the 
winter,  yet  they  were  not  a  whit  inferior  in  their  acquire- 
ments to  their  more  favored  cousins  ;  nay,  I  may  not  be 
mistaken  in  saying  that  they  were  better  educated  than  most 
of  their  associates.  That  my  sisters  were  well  informed  on 
the  various  topics  of  the  day,  read  with  keen  relish  the  best 
English  authors,  and  that  the  letters  they  wrote  did  them 
no  discredit,  either  in  style  or  execution,  may  be  deemed 
faint  praise  in  comparison  with  the  present  broad  surface  of 
female  culture,  yet  even  those  acquirements  they  owed  not 
so  much  to  the  facilities  of  learning  afforded  them,  as  to  the 
care  and  instructions  of  our  father  ;  who  thus  repaid  to  his 


BBOTHEKB,    SISTEK8,    AND   COUSINS.  61 

children  what  he  had  received  from  his  own  excellent 
mother. 

Bessy  was,  from  a  child,  prudent,  thoughtful,  and  discreet. 
Wholly  devoted  to  the  interest  and  welfare  of  the  family, 
she  early  became  the  main  trust  and  stay  of  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  even  of  our  father.  She  was  timid,  taller  than 
Mary,  and  a  little  awkward,  from  the  little  confidence  she 
had  in  her  own  power  to  please — shrinking  from  strangers, 
shy  even  .with  relatives,  she  loved  to  stay  at  home,  where 
she  was  best  known  and  most  valued. 

She  had,  withal,  a  fund  of  quiet  but  jocose  humor,  ever 
peeping  out  in  an  arch  Jook  or  seemingly  grave  remark. 
Her  intuitive  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  gave  her  an  ex- 
quisite tact  in  detecting  the  ridiculous,  or  the  smallest  devi- 
ation from  propriety  in  those  around  her.  We  all  knew, 
and  stood  somewhat  in  awe  of  her  sly  look,  and  meaning 
smile.  Her  care  and  watch  of  Alger  and  little  Willie  were 
unremitting.  When  Alger  came  in,  wearied  with  out-door 
labor — for  all  had  a  share  as  soon  as  old  enough — Bessy 
was  on  the  watch  to  perform  in  his  place .  the  many  little 
services  demanded  of  him  by  our  inconsiderate  mother. 

Our  dear  Alger  was  regarded  with  much  tenderness  by  us 
all,  on  account  of  his  peculiar  infirmity,  which  was  commonly 
attributed  to  a  fright  received  by  our  mother  shortly  before 
his  birth.  She  was  one  day  alone  in  the  house,  expecting  a 
visit  from  one  of  her  sisters  ;  while  anxiously  awaiting  her 
coming,  the  door  of  her  room  suddenly  burst  open,  and  a 
woman  in  tattered  garments,  wild  and  haggard  in  appear- 
ance, stood  before  her,  menacing  her  with  violent  words  and 


62  HOME. 

gestures.  My  mother  fled  from  the  house,  in  extreme  ter- 
ror, almost  as  much  bereft  of  reason  as  her  insane  visitor, 
gained  the  house  of  the  nearest  neighbor,  but  was  for  some 
time  unable  to  speak.  Alger,  her  unfortunate  son,  never 
spoke.  His  temper  and  disposition  were  very  lovely,  but 
his  temperament  was  keenly  susceptible,  and  during  child- 
hood he  was  at  times  almost  insane,  wildly  running  from 
room  to  room  in  a  state  of  high  excitement  ;  at  all  other 
times  he  was  gentle  and  affectionate,  and  most  closely  resem- 
bled Grace  in  his  delicacy  of  form  and  feature. 

His  early  childhood  had  been  sheltered  from  every  sorrow 
that  a  mother's  love  could  prevent,  but  now  his  open  brow 
and  sweet  face  often  wore  a  downcast  and  clouded  expres- 
sion. We  all  shared  in  the  solicitude  lest  he  should  be  neg- 
lected or  unkindly  treated.  My  father's  watchful  eye,  and 
judicious  management,  could  only  avail  for  the  short  portion 
of  time  when  he  was  free  from  the  demands  of  out-door 
labor. 

Our  step-mother,  probably,  thought  the  tenderness  we  all 
felt  and  manifested  for  our  unfortunate  brother,  overween- 
ing, and  unnecessary  ;  or,  perhaps,  she  hardly  considered 
the  matter  at  all,  for  her  errors  seemed  to  arise  chiefly  from 
thoughtlessness,  and  a  total  disregard  of  every  thing  not 
connected  with  her  own  personal  comfort,  and  from  a  too 
partial  love  of  her  own  children,  a  love,  indeed,  arising  from 
this  very  selfishness,  for  she  valued  them  because  they  were 
her  own,  instead  of  seeking  their  best  good  with  genuine 
affection. 

Our  revered  father  was  patient,  placid,  and  forbearing,  in 


BROTHERS,    8I8TER8,    AND   COUSINS.  63 

word  and  manner,  though  many  and  bitter  were  the  trials 
he  endured.  Often  assailed  by  peevish  complaints,  even  by 
coarse  and  abusive  language,  he  achieved  a  triumph  by  his 
meekness  and  calm  endurance,  when  the  exercise  of  his  just 
authority  as  a  husband  in  merited  rebuke,  would  but  have 
aggravated  the  evil. 

I  am  certain  that  his  two  eldest  daughters,  almost  from 
the  first,  saw  and  felt  for  him  in  these  trials,  especially 
Bessy,  with  whom,  when  a  mere  girl,  he  was  accustomed  to 
advise. 

Mary  was  sprightly,  somewhat  volatile,  extremely  fond 
of  pleasure  and  gaiety — it  must  be  confessed,  averse  to 
home  duties  and  cares,  but  she  was  always  in  good  humor, 
warm-hearted,  and  loving,  often  blaming  herself  for  leaving 
Bessy  to  do  more  than  her  share,  but  somehow  having  a 
chief  part  in  all  amusements,  laughing,  visiting,  joking,  and 
singing. 

She  had  a  fine  voice,  and  knew  songs  enough  to  sing  all 
day  long.  She  was  often  called  upon  in  company,  till,  to 
avoid  further  importunity,  she  would  go  gaily  on,  from  song 
to  song,  till  her  list  was  completed. 

Sweetly  winning  in  her  ways,  far  removed  from  pride  or 
stiffness  of  manner,  she  was  almost  lowly  in  her  graceful 
affability  to  all. 

It  was  Bessy  who  kept  all  aprons  and  stockings  in  such 
good  repair — it  was  Mary  who  was  the  life  of  every  com- 
pany, and  a  general  favorite  in  the  gatherings  of  the  young  ; 
nor  was  it  very  uncommon  for  the  lively  girl  to  find  herself 
in  want  of  some  important  article  just  as  she  was  starting 


64:  J10MK. 

away,  and  to  come  to  Bessy's  well-kept,  though  somewhat 
scanty  stores,  for  relief  in  her  difficulties. 

To  Hester  and  myself,  the  great  object  of  ambition  at 
this  time  was,  to  learn  to  spin.  In  the  large  chamber  where 
our  sisters  plied  each  one  a  wheel,  the  merry  buzz  and  the 
cheerful  talk  went  on  together,  day  after  day.  Sometimes 
we  were  allowed  to  be  with  them,  assisting  in  some  part  of 
the  work  ;  but  we  were  chiefly  employed  with  an  allotted 
task  of  knitting  or  sewing,  under  the  eye  of  our  mother, 
until  old  enough  to  learn  to  spin,  and  to  have,  each,  a  wheel 
of  her  own. 

One  day,  when  about  eleven  or  twelve  years  old,  I  had 
been  allowed,  to  my  great  delight,  to  spend  most  of  the  fore- 
noon with  my  sisters.  I  had  learned  to  manage  the  wheel, 
and  was  expecting  one  for  myself  as  soon  as  it  could  be  con- 
veniently procured. 

In  the  meantime,  Hester  and  I  were  employed  in  making 
into  sheets  a  long  web  newly  bleached.  Oh,  how  tired  we 
were  of  the  long  seams  1  but  they  must  be  done  by  us,  for 
other  and  more  difficult  work  was  demanded  of  the  older 
members  of  the  household,  so  we  worked  away  with  weary 
fingers,  while  the  summer  breeze  came  in  at  the  open  door, 
and  glimpses  of  the  waving  trees  in  the  orchard,  and  the 
bright  sky  beyond,  made  our  hearts  spring  like  the  bent 
bow  as  we  longed  to  bound  away  on  the  green  grass,  and 
breathe  the  fresh,  sweet  air.  I  had,  indeed,  plied  my  needle 
diligently,  thinking  of  the  pleasure  I  should  have  in  being 
constantly  with  the  older  girls,  when  I  had  my  promised 
wheel,  and  with  a  womanly  sense  of  being  then  no  longer 


AND  cousnsrs.  65 

classed  with  the  children,  and  having  a  daily  task  upon  the 
never-ending  seams.  Thus  busily  thinking,  my  work  had 
sped  well,  but  poor  Hester's  was  quite  behind  ;  her  eye 
often  wandered,  she  broke  her  thread,  pricked  her  fingers, 
fidgeted  in  her  seat,  and,  worst  of  all,  surveyed  despairingly 
the  long  piece,  still  uncompleted.  Suddenly  she  exclaimed, 

"  There  is  Nabby  coming  across  the  field,  with  a  tin  pail 
in  her  hand  1  Oh,  mother  !  mayn't  I  run  and  meet 
her?" 

"  No  !  sit  still  !  She  has  come  to  racket  and  play,  I 
warrant  ;  but  you  shan't  either  of  you  leave  your  work  till 
it  is  done." 

"  Mine  is  'most  done,"  said  I.  Hester  began  to  look 
grave,  for  Nabby  was  her  especial  playmate,  and  meantime 
she  entered. 

"  Heyday  !  here's  little  black-eyed  Nab  1  I  don't  know 
what  will  happen,  when  she  is  grown  up  and  the  beaux 
come  round  !" 

The  little  girl's  eyes  sparkled  anew  at  this  address  from 
my  mother,  who  well  knew  how  to  please  children,  though 
by  no  means  always  judicious  in  her  remarks  to  them. 

"  I  have  come  to  stay  an  hour,  and  play  with  Hester. 
I've  been  tending  the  baby  all  day,  and  he's  been  so  cross." 

"  No  ;  Hester  must  finish  her  sewing.  You  may  go  and 
play,  Anna,  if  you  have  done  yours." 

"  Wait  just  a  little  while,"  pleaded  Hester,  now  applying 
herself  vigorously  ;  "  What  is  your  pail  for,  Nabby  ?" 

"  Oh,  mother  sent  to  know  if  you  would  lend  her  some 
flour.  Father  promised  to  get  some,  but  he  didn't,  and  Un- 


66  HOME. 

cle  William,  came  last  night.  Father  will  get  some  pretty 
soon,  I  guess." 

My  mother  did  not  look  very  well  pleased,  but  took  the 
pail.  In  truth,  it  was  not  a  strange  thing  for  Nabby  to 
come  to  borrow  one  article  or  another,  and  borrowing  was 
frequently  equivalent  to  begging.  Our  cousin  Hanuah,  her 
mother,  was  poor,  often  much  tried,  sometimes  poorly  sup- 
plied with  even  the  necessaries  of  life.  Her  husband  was 
master  of  a  lucrative  trade,  and  might  have  provided  well 
for  his  family,  but  spent  too  many  evenings  at  the  village 
tavern,  and  it  became  rather  a  matter  of  chance  whether 
their  pantry  contained  either  bread  or  meat. 

"  May  we  go  up  stairs,  mother,  till  Hester  is  done  ?" 

"  No  ;  the  girls  hinder  themselves  enough  by  their  own 
talk,  without  your  going  up  to  help  them." 

But  Nabby  was  determined  to  go  up  stairs,  and  by  dint 
of  coaxing,  she  succeeded,  highly  delighted  with  the  permis- 
sion, and  so,  in  truth,  was  I.  She  was  bold  and  forward, 
asking  questipns  about  everything,  ransacking  the  chamber, 
and  peering  into  every  corner. 

"  Here,  little  miss,  you  must  not  open  that  chest,"  said 
Mary,  "  I  allow  no  one  but  myself  to  do  that." 

"  Tell  me  what  is  in  it,"  persisted  Nabby  ;  "  I  want  to 
see  your  things  in  there." 

"  Ccme  here,  Nabby,"  said  Bessy,  "  I  want  to  tell  you 
something  ;  do  you  know  how  your  eyes  grow  bigger  and 
bigger  all  the  time,  while  you  look  at  other  people's  things  ? 
I  think  they  are  about  large  enough  now.  I  should  not 
want  them  to  grow  faster  than  the  rest  of  you,  and  they 


BROTHERS,    SISTERS,    AND   COU8IN8.  67 

will,  if  you  do  so,  and  then  people  will  say,  '  there's  Nab  by 
Great-eyes  1' " 

"  You  don't  know  who  has  come,"  said  the  little  girl, 
trying  to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  Come  !''  said  Bessy,  "  I  suppose  a  great  many  people 
have  come  somewhere." 

"  Oh,  well  1  somebody  came  to  our  house  yesterday,  from 
down  below.  It's  Uncle  William,  and  he  said  he  was  com- 
ing to  see  you  to-night,  Mary." 

Mary's  bright  blush  set  me  to  thinking,  for  Nabby's  Un- 
cle William,  when  in  town,  had  called  over  more  than  once, 
and  made  himself  very  agreeable. 

"  Now,"  said  Bessy,  laughing,  "  you  are  a  wise  child — 
do  you  expect  us  to  believe  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  fie  1  Nabby,"  said  Mary,  "  what  a  story  you  are 
telling.  I  shall  make  it  a  point  in  future  to  believe  only 
half  of  what  you  say." 

"  Well — he  asked  mother  if  you  were  at  home.  I  heard 
him" 

"  Then  just  half  of  it  is  true,"  said  Bessy 

"  Besides,  I  heard  mother  say  something  to  him  about 
coming  here  a  great  deal." 

"  So  does  Cousin  David  come  here,  almost  every  day,"  I 
interposed,  "  and  he  always  walks  home  from  meeting  with 
Mary,  every  Sunday,  too." 

41  Hush,  Anna,"  said  Mary,  "  you  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about."  Just  then  I  was  called  down  stairs  for 
something,  and  finding  Hester  crying  over  her  unfinished 
work,  I  told  her  I  would  do  it  for  her,  if  mother  would  let 


68  HOME. 

me  take  it  up  stairs,  which,  with  some  reluctance,  she  per- 
mitted. Hester  ran  gladly  out  to  play  with  Nabby,  while  I 
was  well  satisfied  to  stay  and  listen  to  my  sisters'  conversa- 
tion. Mary  and  Bessy  began  to  talk  of  Cousin  Hannah  and 
her  trials,  Nabby's  smartness  and  neglected  training,  and 
the  bad  influence  of  the  examples  by  which  she  was  sur- 
rounded. Mary's  work,  whilom  apt  to  linger,  did  not  now  ; 
her  wheel  buzzed  merrily,  amid  some  quiet  fun  on  the  part 
of  Bessy,  and  much  gleeful  teazing  by  me,  especially  as  I 
chanced  to  find  out  that  Mary  contrived  to  put  a  nice  piece 
of  new  cheese  slily  into  Nabby's  pail  when  she  left. 

Before  evening  Mary's  work  was  done,  herself  made  tidy, 
and,  sure  enough,  William  Homer  came,  and  I  fancy  it  was 
rather  a  late  hour  in  the  evening  when  he  took  his  leave. 
The  next  afternoon  he  came  again,  mounted  upon  a  fine 
horse,  and  leading  another,  for  a  ride  ;  and  blushing  Mary, 
looking  bright  and  beautiful,  rode  up  the  quiet  lane  with 
him,  just  as  the  sun  was  setting  over  the  top  of  Pine  Moun- 
tain. 

The  warm  glow  of  sunset  was  all  around  ;  the  burnished 
tree  tops,  the  deep  shadows  on  the  green  fields,  the  melody 
of  singing  birds,  all  found  echo  and  were  reflected  in  their 
young  hearts,  as,  -gaily  talking,  they  disappeared  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill. 


DREAMS   AND   BEAUTIES.  69 


CHAPTER    XI. 


DREAMS     AND     REALITIES. 


"  Rarest  ot  all  things  on  earth  Is  the  onion  in  which  both,  by  their  contrasts, 
make  harmonious  their  blending;  each  supplying  the  defects  of  the  helpmate,  and 
completing  by  fusion,  one  strong  human  soul." 


WILLIAM  HOMER'S  parents  were  old  residents  of  Wayland. 
The  eldest  son,  Nabby's  father,  has  been  already  mentioned; 
the  younger,  William,  was  smart,  intelligent,  but  rather  gay, 
so  that  he  was  termed  by  some,  "  a  wild  young  man  ;"  he 
was  very  handsome,  almost  fascinating  in  his  pleasing 
address  and  easy  politeness,  not  lessened  by  his  residence 
"  down  below,"  that  is,  in  or  near  Boston,  where  he  had 
obtained  a  situation  in  a  dry  goods  store.  Mary's  spright- 
liness  suited  well  with  his  gaiety  and  high  spirits,  and  that 
he  was  pleasing  to  her,  there  could  be  no  doubt.  But  my 
father's  air  of  gravity  and  reserve  in  respect  to  him,  notwith- 
standing the  frequent,  and  often  unseemly  jests  of  our  step- 
mother, caused  Mary  some  anxious  thoughts  ;  and  I  used 
to  hear  her  at  night — for  I  occupied  a  bed  in  the  same 
chamber — in  earnest  conversation  with  Bessy.  This  was 
but  the  commencement  of  her  first  anxiety,  and  to  Bessy 
she  instinctively  turned  for  counsel.  No  sisters  could  bo 
more  closely  united  in  feeling,  more  confidential  and  commu- 
cative  to  each  other  in  their  affairs. 


70  HOME. 

This  confidence  was  not  extended  in  the  smallest  degree 
to  our  mother  ;  nor  joys  nor  griefs  were  entrusted  to  her 
keeping,  nor  could  they  have  been,  with  safety. 

I  do  not  think  we  ever  failed  in  outward  obedience  and 
respect  towards  her,  yet,  that  she  possessed  not  the  key  to 
our  deeper  feelings,  was  early  and  thoroughly  understood 
by  us  all. 

She  herself  marked  a  division,  so  to  speak,  by  her  com- 
monest words  and  actions,  between  herself  and  her  own 
children  on  the  one  hand,  and  her  husband  and  step-children 
on  the  other.  It  was  not  uncommon  for  her,  in  the  morn- 
ing, after  the  family  breakfast  of  plain  but  wholesome  food 
was  dispatched,  and  the  family  had  dispersed  to  their  diffe- 
rent tasks,  to  prepare  some  little  delicacy  for  herself  and 
her  own  little  daughter.  I  recollect  one  incident,  not  un- 
like others  of  common  occurrence.  An  altercation  had 
arisen  at  the  dinner  table  between  Willie  and  our  youngest 
brother,  Royal.  My  father,  probably  from  seeing  the 
younger  most  in  fault,  reproved  him.  His  mother  instantly 
interposed,  exclaiming,  while  she  caressed  her  son,  "  You 
take  care  of  your  child,  and  I  will  of  mine  !" 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  isn't  Royal  father's  child  too  ?" 

But  I  was  bid  to  be  silent,  for  her  husband  never  permit- 
ted the  least  improper  or  disrespectful  treatment  of  her  by 
his  children.  Besides  this,  her  carriage  and  deportment  were 
too  often  subversive  alike  of  the  dignity  of  matron  and 
mother.  She  was  perpetually  lowering  herself  by  querulous 
trifling,  petty  contests  with  the  children,  or  bandying  low 
jests  with  the  hired  workmen,  enjoying  with  much  seeming 


DREAMS   AND   REALITIES.  71 

relish  the  coarse  laugh  and  the  rough  retort.  We  were 
often  mortified  by  the  negligence,  even  uncouthness  of  her 
dress  ;  for  in  this,  as  in  other  respects,  she  loved  to  stand 
upon  the  outer  verge  of  decorum,  and  slight  the  thousand 
little  decencies  of  life  and  manners. 

One  day,  when  in  one  of  her  worst  plights,  Deacon  Peters 
and  his  wife,  special  friends  of  my  father,  and  she  a  lady  of 
much  refinement,  came  unexpectedly  to  visit.  When  my 
mother  first  perceived  them,  she  stood  almost  aghast  at 
being  surprised  in  such  a  predicament ;  but,  as  they  ap- 
proached the  house  on  their  horses,  a  sudden  thought  struck 
her ;  she  caught  out  her  skirts  with  either  hand,  like  an 
opera  girl,  struck  up  a  lively  tune,  danced  a  jig  in  the  open 
door,  and  skipped  out  to  meet  them.  Mirth  and  hilarity 
followed  this  ludicrous  performance,  which,  however  well  it 
might  have  succeeded  as  a  ruse  to  conceal  her  chagrin, 
seemed  more  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  a  harlequin 
than  with  that  of  a  dignified  and  courteous  lady,  welcoming 
valued  guests.  Her  nature  lacked  the  quality  of  earnest, 
reflective  seriousness,  no  less  than  a  nice  perception  of  pro- 
priety. The  contrast  in  habits  of  thought  and  feeling  be- 
tween her  and  my  father  was  great.  She  could  neither 
lighten  nor  share  his  burdens  ;  but  upon  his  faithful  daugh- 
ter, his  Bessy,  he  could  and  did  rely  for  constant  aid,  and 
even  counsel,  in  his  many  cares.  • 

She  has  since  told  me,  that  he  was  accustomed  to  con- 
verse with  her  freely  upon  family  matters,  and  that  many 
a  time,  when  riding  to  church  on  horseback  behind  him,  she 
was  affected  to  tears,  with  the  thought  that  young,  inexpe- 


72  HOME. 

rienced,  and  unfit  as  she  felt  herself  to  be,  her  father  should 
seek  her  advice  and  make  her  the  repository  of  his  paternal 
cares  and  anxieties.  My  much-loved,  honored  father  !  how 
unwearied  were  his  cares,  his  love,  and  his  efforts  for  our 
good  !  How  vividly  his  kind,  grave  face  rises  to  my  recol- 
lection, and  with  it  come  his  words  of  tender  counsel,  of 
wise  caution,  or  reproof,  almost  always  in  quotations  from 
the  scriptures.  His  acquaintance  with  the  Bible  was  so 
intimate  that  some  apposite  proverb  or  word  of  exhortation 
would  seem  to  rise  spontaneously  to  his  lips,  suited  to  every 
occasion  ;  casually  passing  through  the  room,  perhaps,  some 
passage  gently  repeated  would  check  our  foolish  jesting, 
idle  talk,  or  noisy  glee,  with  an  effect  which  has  proved  great 
and  lasting.  The  truth  thus  early  implanted  in  the  "seed 
time "  of  life,  applied  to  daily  circumstances  in  our  childish 
feelings  and  actions,  formed  the  very  life  of  the  moral  nature 
of  his  children — nay,  constituted  the  foundation,  deep  and 
strong,  of  the  religious  character  of  later  years.  Even  in 
thoughtless  girlhtod,  amid  all  its  heedless  waywardness, 
when  tempted  to  indulge  in  envious  or  unkind  feelings,  how 
often  have  these  words  of  wisdom  flashed  across  my  mind, 
with  all  the  tender  and  solemn  sanction  not  alone  of  an 
earthly  father,  but  of  an  Heavenly  I 

Nor  was  this  influence  less  salutary  on  others.  Neighbor 
Fleming,  significantly  termed  "  shiftless,"  who  occupied  a 
miserable  hut  near  by,  and  was  literally  taken  care  of  by 
my  father,  came  one  day  with  a  child  in  his  arms,  complain- 
ing bitterly  of  the  behavior  of  his  wife,  for  they  often  disa- 
greed ;  presently  she  appeared  with  another  child,  alleging 


DBEAMB  AND  BEAUTIES.  73 

that  her  husband  was  alway  finding  fault,  let  her  do  what 
Bhe  would.  My  father  gravely  repeated,  "  Better  is  a  din- 
ner of  herbs  where'  love  is,  than  a  stalled  ox  and  hatred 
therewith."  "  The  beginning  of  strife  is  as  when  one  letteth 
out  water,"  and  similar  quotations — his  only  words.  On 
another  like  occasion,  his  answer  was,  "  Tug  at  the  beam, 
neighbor  Fleming,  tug  at  the  beam,  and  the  mote  will  dis- 
appear." 


14,  HOME. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"DOWN  BELOW." 

IN  due  time  my  wheel  was  procured,  and  Hester,  too,  was 
initiated  into  the  spinning  department,  for,  as  the  season 
advanced,  there  was  greater  press  than  usual  in  the  house- 
hold work. 

Bessy  had,  with  some  difficulty,  obtained  permission  to 
make  a  web  of  fine  table  linen,  being  desirous  of  learning  to 
weave  this,  the  most  difficult  fabric  of  home  manufacture. 

Cousin  Lucy,  a  niece  of  my  father's,  much  valued  by  him, 
and  beloved  by  us  all,  who  was  frequently  at  our  house, 
came  now,  and  spent  a  week  to  instruct  Bessy  in  the  nice 
and  complicated  process  of  weaving  it,  for  she  was  well 
skilled  in  the  art  ;  and  with  much  satisfaction  a  long  web 
of  the  firm  texture,  variously  figured,  was  laid  on  the  grass, 
and  carefully  tended,  till  it  rivalled  the  snow  in  whiteness. 

After  this,  came  the  work  of  preparing  winter  clothing  ; 
the  wool  was  to  be  picked,  cleansed,  carded,  and  spun,  then 
dyed  and  woven,  that  we  might  he  in  readiness  for  the  rijjors 
of  the  severe  cold  ;  labors  much  more  arduous  and  disagree- 
able than  those  of  preparing  the  flax. 

This  year  brought  some  changes  in  the  usually  unvarying 
tenor  of  things  in  our  quiet  family.  Our  dear  Grace  came 
home  on  a  visit  of  some  weeks.  I  should  have  mentioned, 
that  she  had  lived  most  of  the  time  since  the  death  of  our 


"DOWN  BELOW."  75 

mother,  with  our  Aunt  Hilliard,  at  Alstead,  New  Hamp- 
shire. Aunt  Hilliard  was  a  younger  sister  of  our  own 
mother,  a  noble,  true-hearted  woman,  and  well  and  tenderly 
had  she  cared  for  and  instructed  her  sister's  child.  TJncle 
Hilliard  was  a  physician,  at  first  settling  in  Wayland,  he 
had  afterwards  removed  to  the  still  newer  region  of  Che- 
shire county,  and  there  established  himself. 

Oh,  how  glad  were  we  to  see  our  own  darling  sister,  so 
long  separated  from  us  !  She  was  joyous  as  a  bird  in 
spring  ;  with  a  clear,  dancing  blue  eye,  lightsome  step,  and 
airy  motion,  she  seemed  to  have  a  glow  of  happiness  about 
her  enlivening  the  whole  house.  None  was  more  happy  in 
her  return  than  poor  Alger,  who  said,  in  his  expressive  lan- 
guage of  signs,  "  When  Grace  comes  into  the  room,  the  sun 
shines."  He  was  nearest  to  her  in  age,  and  from  childhood 
they  had  been  special  companions. 

Grace  herself  was  almost  wild  with  joy  at  being  again 
with  us,  giving  us  lively  accounts  of  her  home  in  Alstead, 
often  making  us  laugh  by  her  witty  descriptions  of  what  she 
had  seen.  She  had  much  skill  and  ingenuity  with  her  nee- 
dle, and  was  of  essential  service  in  that  respect,  though  she 
was  then  only  a  child  of  fourteen. 

But  the  principal  event  in  the  family  this  autumn,  was 
Mary's  first  visit  to  Boston,  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  Aunt 
Hastings.  Uncle  Hastings  was  a  hardware  merchant,  with 
a  comfortable  income.  They  lived  in  some  style,  in  a  large, 
square,  wooden  house,  at  the  South  End.  The  dwelling  is 
still  standing,  though  having  undergone  in  modern  times 
considerable  renovation.  Aunt  Anna  Hastings  was  ad- 


76  HOME. 

mired,  loved,  reverenced  by  as  as  quite  the  standard  of  per- 
fection in  almost  all  respects.  She  was  one  of  the  most  win- 
ning and  lovely  women  I  ever  saw,  as  well  as  the  kindest  of 
aunts.  Bessy,  her  only  daughter,  was  a  little  younger  than 
Mary  ;  her  son  was  older,  and  remarkable  for  his  personal 
beauty.  To  make  a  visit  to  this  beloved  aunt  was  quite  the 
summit  of  our  wishes,  and  it  suited  well  with  the  gaiety  of 
Mary's  disposition  to  mingle  in  the  exciting  scenes,  and 
witness  the  life  and  animation  of  the  city.  The  journey  was 
an  important  event  in  our  retired  country  life,  and  tnere  was 
much  grave  consultation  on  the  matter  of  preparation.  No 
pains  were  spared  to  make  her  simple  wardrobe  presentable 
in  the  eyes  of  her  cousins,  yet  she  found  she  must  content 
herself  to  rest  in  the  comfortable  conclusion  to  which 
Bessy's  good  sense  conducted  her. 

"  You  are  a  farmer's  daughter,"  said  she,  "  as  every  one 
who  sees  you  will  know  ;  you  will  not  be  expected  to  appear 
in  the  fashion  and  finery  of  rich  city  girls." 

"But,"  said  Mary,  "I  should  be  sorry  to  have  Cousin 
Bessy  ashamed  to  introduce  me  to  her  associates." 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  likely  at  all,"  rejoined  Bessy,  "  it  is  no 
dishonor  to  a  country  girl  to  appear  in  a  country  garb,  and 
if  anything  is  really  wanting  to  make  your  dress  respecta- 
ble, Aunt  Hastings  will  tell  you.  After  all,  Mary,  you 
must,  no  doubt,  depend  on  something  better  than  fine  dress 
to  give  you  favor  with  others." 

This  conversation  was  the  evening  before  Mary  was  to 
leave.  We  were  seated  on  a  spot  half-way  between  the 
house  and  the  barn.  It  was  a  ledge  just  appearing  above 


77 

the  grass,  and  forming  a  short,  abrupt  descent,  where  we 
often  sat,  or  reclined,  on  summer  evenings,  and  waited  for 
the  cows  to  come  home  to  be  milked.  While  Mary  and 
Bessy  were  talking,  father  came  from  the  barn  on  his  way 
to  the  house,  and  paused  where  we  were.  Pointing  to  the 
glowing  sunset  sky,  and  the  distant  trees  resting  on  its 
bright  bosom,  he  said  : 

"  That  glorious  scene  brings  Heaven  to  my  mind,  with  its 
peace,  its  blessedness  ;  how  mean  and  trifling  are  the  things 
of  earth,  in  comparison  with  Heaven's  glories  !  Keep  God, 
and  the  world  to  come,  in  your  thoughts,  my  children,  and 
the  little  annoyances  and  mortifications  you  will  meet,  will 
have  small  power  to  disturb  you.  Remember  this,  my 
daughter,  in  leaving  your  home  ;  new  scenes  will  doubtless 
bring  new  trials  and  temptations.  Learn  all  you  can  ;  your 
aunt  will  aid  and  guide  you  in  whatever  is  necessary  for 
your  respectable  appearance  among  her  friends.  Esteem  it 
of  little  consequence,  comparatively,  what  is  thought  of 
your  dress,  but  be  careful  that  all  have  reason  to  approve 
your  conduct." 

Then  taking  out  his  well-worn  purse,  and  putting  some 
pieces  of  money  into  her  hand,  he  said  : 

"  Here  is  a  trifle  more  I  can  spare  you." 

"  Oh  !  father,"  said  Mary,  "  you  have  given  me  so  much 
already  !  I  am  afraid  it  is  selfish  for  me  to  take  any 
more." 

Her  father  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  smile,  as  he  said,  "  It 
will  not  seem  like  '  so  much'  when  you  see  so  many  things 


78  HOME. 

you  would  like  in  Boston,  and  you  need  not  think  yon  are 
selfish,  for  I  don't." 

As  we  walked  towards  the  house,  I  saw  a  big  tear  roll 
down  Mary's  cheek,  but  she  quickly  brushed  it  away,  as 
she  caught  the  anxious  glance  of  Bessy,  and  all  that  even- 
ing she  seemed  determined  to  keep  up  our  spirits,  by  her 
lively  chat,  and  cheerful,  hopeful  prophecies  of  her  brilliant 
debut  in  Boston.  The  next  morning  she  left  us. 


A   LITTLE   LOVE    AND    A    LITTLE   TROUBLE.  79 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A   LITTLE    LOVE,    AND    A   LITTLE   TROUBLE. 
*  Every  life  must  have  Us  own  romance." 

MARY  went  away  buoyant  with  hope  and  expectation  ; 
she  had  the  happy  faculty  of  extracting  pleasure  from  every 
source  within  her  reach  ;  bat  her  anticipated  enjoyment  was 
somewhat  clouded  by  a  circumstance  of  which  I  knew  no- 
thing till  long  afterwards,  but  which  had  an  important  bear- 
ing upon  her  destiny  in  after  life. 

A  week  had  passed,  and  she  had  been  the  happiest  of  the 
nappy,  each  day  receiving  new  delight  in  visiting,  chape- 
roned by  her  cousins,  the  various  objects  of  interest.  Every- 
thing had  the  charm  of  freshness  and  novelty  to.  her  eyes  ; 
the  sumptuous  dwellings,  the  brilliant  shops,  with  their  win- 
dows temptingly  decked  with  the  new,  the  costly,  and  the 
beautiful.  Tnen,  how  delightful  the  evening  promenade  in 
the  Mall,  among  crowds  of  people,  well  dressed,  looking 
happy  and  elegant — all  was  like  enchantment  to  her  unprac- 
tised vision. 

One  day  a  ride  to  Roxbury  was  proposed,  a  family  carry- 
all was  engaged,  and  all  were  to  be  ready  as  soon  as  dinner 
was  over.  Light-hearted  and  happy,  she  was  singing 
through  the  hall  as  she  went  up  to  dress  for  the  ride,  when 
a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  from  the  top  of  the 


80  HOME. 

stairs  she  heard  a  well-known  voice  inquire  for  "  Miss  Mary 
Leland."  Her  heart  beat  loudly  as  she  went  down  to  meet 
her  old  admirer,  William  Homer,  who,  hearing  she  was  in 
the  city,  had  called  to  see  her.  A  variety  of  contending 
emotions  flushed  her  cheeks,  and  deprived  her  of  all  pre- 
sence of  mind  ;  maiden  timidity  and  bashfulness,  joined  to 
fear  of  her  aunt,  whose  ideas  of  nicest  propriety  she  knew, 
with  an  almost  unacknowledged  consciousness  that  the  hand- 
some young  man  whom  she  looked  upon  with  so  much  favor, 
was,  after  all,  not  the  character  to  meet  the  approbation  of 
her  friends  as  a  visitor  to  herself. 

Feeling  at  the  moment,  that  she  could  not  invite  him  in, 
to  be  recognized  by  her  friends  as  her  suitor,  she  treated 
him  with  coolness,  almost  with  incivility. 

He  saw  her  embarrassment,  but  knew  not  its  cause.  So, 
after  a  word  or  two,  coldly  spoken,  he  took  his  leave,  feel- 
ing his  presence  unwelcome,  both  grieved  and  indignant  at 
his  repulse.  Poor  Mary  crept  up  stairs,  overcome  by  a 
whirl  of  feelings.  A  sense  of  relief  that  he  was  gone 
unseen  by  any  of  the  family,  was  soon  succeeded  by 
great  uneasiness  at  the  recollection  of  his  look  of  chagrin 
and  vexation.  Reproaching  herself  .bitterly  for  the  cold  and 
uncivil  demeanor  which  so  belied  her  heart,  she  burst  into 
tears.  Soon,  however,  consoling  herself  with  the  idea  that 
she  should  make  all  right  at  some  future  meeting,  she  dried 
her  eyes. 

Though  her  thoughts  wandered,  and  a  shadow  was  upon 
her  spirit  at  first,  she  became  cheerful,  and  even  animated,  by 
her  ride.  Roxbury  was  at  that  time  a  succession  of  fine 


A   LITTLE   LOVE   AND    A    LITTLE   TROUBLE.  81 

farms,  with  comfortable,  and  even  elegant  dwellings.  The 
scenery  was  charming,  and  Mary's  love  of  nature  was  all 
aroused.  It  was,  too,  the  early  home  of  her  own  mother,  the 
place  of  dear  associations,  and  of  many  valued  frieads.  The 
next  day,  as  she  sat  at  work  with  cousin  Bessy,  a  letter  was 
brought  to  her  by  the  penny-postman.  The  handwriting 
made  her  cheek  change  color,  and  her  hand  trembled  so  she 
dared  not  open  it.  Covering  her  confusion  by  a  question 
about  the  messenger,  she  escaped  to  her  room,  and  found  it 
to  be  what  she  had  anticipated — a  letter  from  her  indignant 
admirer.  It  was  written  in  great  agitation,  and  in  all  the 
bitterness  of  wounded  affection.  He  declared  that  he  needed 
no  more  proof  of  her  indifference,  than  was  given  in  her 
reception  of  him  the  preceding  day  ;  that  he  would  trouble 
her  no  more  with  his  attentions  or  his  presence,  though  all 
his  cherished  hopes  were  blasted  ;  that  his  life  would  hence- 
forth be  a  burden  too  valueless  to  be  worth  the  trouble  of 
preserving ;  and  much  more,  in  the  strong,  passionate  lan- 
guage of  resentment,  injured  feeling,  and  disappointment. 

This  was  trouble,  indeed,  for  poor  Mary  ;  his  fine  ap- 
pearance and  winning  manners  had  captivated  her  youthful 
fancy  ;  her  heart  was  touched  by  his  regard  for  herself,  mani- 
fested even  in  their  childhood.  In  many  of  the  suuniftt 
hours  of  her  joyous  young  life  he  had  been  "associated  ;  and 
did  not  his  image  find  place,  too,  in  her  bright  visions  of  the 
future  ?  That  future,  indeed,  she  had  but  vaguely  pictured 
to  herself,  nor  were  her  thoughts  and  feelings  in  regard  to 
him  very  clearly  defined  in  her  own  mind.  She  lived  in  the 
happy  Present. 

4* 


82  HOME. 

The  period  of  girlhood  is  that  of  quick  susceptibility,  nay, 
of  strong,  o'er-mastering,  passionate  feeling  ;  but  it  is  also 
the  time  when  fancy  and  imagination  bear  sway — subtle 
Fancy  weaving  its  airy  web  in  the  warm  tints  of  imagina- 
tion's bright  coloring. 

The  true  depth  of  earnest,  serious  affection,  must  have 
underlying  it,  the  higher,  purer,  stronger  powers  of  the  soul, 
that  the  judgment  may,  in  its  sweep,  bear  along  the  passions 
and  emotions  in  delightful  harmony. 

This  was  Mary's  first  love,  and  though  it  was  the  love  of 
the  girl,  rather  than  of  the  woman,  it  was  still  deep  and 
true.  Sometimes  she  half  resolved  to  write  to  him,  desiring 
him  to  come  to  her,  and  then  to  explain  all,  and  seek  recon- 
ciliation ;  but  her  maidenly  pride  forbade.  With  all  her 
love  for  him,  and  her  regret  for  her  unkind  treatment,  she 
could  but  feel  that  he  had  been  hasty,  and  unjust  ;  that,  as 
he  had  left  her  in  a  fret,  she  knew  not  how  to  stoop  to  win 
him  back  ;  but  neither  did  she  know  how  to  bear  this 
estrangement  for  such  a  trifle.  She  was  sorely  tried,  and 
her  evident  nnhappiness,  swollen  eyes,  and  air  so  different 
from  her  usual  buoyancy,  could  not  escape  notice  ;  anxious 
looks  and  inquiries  only  added  to  her  trouble,  until  at 
length  her  aunt,  taking  a  favorable  occasion,  when  Bessy 
was  spending  the  day  abroad,  set  herself  seriously  to  probe 
the  wound.  In  a  kind,  considerate  manner,  partly  by  affec- 
tionate entreaty,  partly  by  her  right,  as  standing  for  the 
time  in  place  of  mother,  she  drew  from  Mary  a  reluctant 
confession  of  her  feelings,  and  the  cause  of  her  present  cloud 
of  sorrow. 


A   LITTLE   LOVE   AND   A   LITTLE   TROUBLE.  83 

Aunt  Hastings  read  the  letter  attentively,  and  after  a 
few  minutes'  thoughtful  silence,  said  kindly, 

"  I  quite  sympathize  with  you,  my  love,  in  regretting  your 
incivility.  There  is  no  keener  suffering  to  a  generous  mind 
than  regret  for  a  wrong  done  ;  it  was  due  to  yourself,  and 
due  to  him,  as  a  gentleman  and  friend,  to  treat  him  with 
kindness  and  courtesy.  But,  my  dear  girl,"  she  continued, 
"  this  letter  betrays  great  lack  of  a  candid,  manly  temper, 
and  a  want  of  high  principles  of  action,  making  all  due 
allowance  for  the  strength  of  his  feelings.  The  young  man 
who  would  suffer  himself  to  be  hurried  along  by  such  a  tor- 
rent of  mad  passion  as  his  letter  betrays,  is  unfit  to  be 
trusted  with  the  happiness  of  another.  He  is  not  the  one 
for  you — think  no  more  of  him." 

"  But,  aunt,"  sobbed  Mary,  "  he  is  so  unhappy  I" 

"  Not  so  unhappy,  perhaps,  as  you  imagine,  my  dear," 
quietly  rejoined  her  aunt  ;  "  such  extravagant  misery  is  not 
apt  to  be  lasting  or  deep  ;  if,  as  I  judge,  he  sports  the  cha- 
racter of  the  light-minded,  fancy-flitting  beau,  you  can  well 
dispense  with  any  further  attentions  from  him,  and  he  will 
soon  recover  his  spirits.  What  is  your  father's  opinion  of 
him  ?"  she  continued. 

Mary  colored,  then  hesitatingly  answered,  "  He  never 
said  much  about  him." 

Aunt  Hastings  went  on.  "  It  is  of  the  first  consequence 
that  you  be  able  to  look  up  with  respect,  and  repose  perfect 
trust  in  the  man  you  qall  your  husband  ;  this  can  only  con- 
sist with  steady,  thoughtful  self-restraint,  subjecting  the 
mind  and  character  to  the  rule  of  firm  principle.  Love,  not 


84:  HOME. 

founded  upon  these  qualities,  is  as  evanescent  as  the  dew  on 
the  summer  flower.  Can  you  thus  respect  and  trust  Wil- 
liam Homer  ?  Do  you  believe  him  to  be  under  the  control 
of  strong  principle  ?  Think  and  judge  calmly,  my  dear." 

Mary  was  obliged  to  acknowledge,  when  her  serious  judg- 
ment was  thus  appealed  to,  that  some  points  in  his  charac- 
ter did  not  please  herself,  and  that  she  was  by  no  means 
sure  that  his  attentions  were  approyed  by  her  father. 

"  But  I  can't  help  wishing  this  had  not  happened,"  she 
said,  sorrowfully. 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  said  her  aunt,  kindly,  "  I  am  satisfied, 
quite  satisfied  that  it  is  best  as  it  is.  Nay,  I  am  disposed  to 
regard  this  as  one  of  those  turns  in  Providence,  in  which, 
by  a  trivial  act  or  circumstance,  a  new  direction  or  different 
character  is  given  to  a  long  train  of  events,  perhaps  a  whole 
life.  All  our  ways  are  directed  by  our  Father  above,"  she 
exclaimed,  reverently  looking  up,  "  nor  can  we  advance  a 
step,  but  at  his  bidding  " 

A  glow  of  earnestness  suffused  her  expressive  countenance 
as  she  added,  thoughtfully,  "  How  different  from  the  whirl 
a»d  excitement  of  passing  scenes  and  present  emotions,  is 
the  cooler  and  more  distant  view  that  retrospection  gives  ! 
A  few  years  hence,  you  may  look  back  on  this  occurrence, 
now  so  painful  to  you,  my  dear  girl,  as  one  of  the  most  for- 
tunate circumstances  of  your  life.  It  is  only  in  scanning  the 
backward  path,  that  the  cloud  becomes  luminous.  We 
walk  in  darkness  seeing  but  the  footsteps  we  are  treading, 
and  that  imperfectly  ;  all  objects  before  us  appear  in  gigan- 
tic and  fanciful  shape,  like  a  landscape  enveloped  in  fog  and 


A   LITTLE   LOVE   AND   A    LITTLE   TROUBLE.  85 

mist  ;  while  behind  us  the  long  pathway,  however  winding 
or  rugged,  beams  in  light." 

This  conversation  was  not  without  its  effect  on  Mary's 
mind.  It  revealed  clearly  to  her,  what  she  had  before  dimly 
seen — that  William  Homer  was  deficient  in  some  of  the  ele- 
ments essential  to  a  noble,  manly  character  ;  and,  though 
her  heart  still  pleaded  in  his  favor,  her  reason  and  con- 
science declared  that  her  aunt  was  right  in  saying — "  It  is 
best  as  it  is." 


86  HOI 


CH APTE  R    XIV. 

COUNTRY    SCENES. 

«« You  live,  sir,  In  these  dales,  a  quiet  life ; 
Your  years  make  up  one  peaceful  family." 

MARY  returned  home  from  Boston  somewhat  sooner  than 
she  at  first  intended,  Uncle  James  Lyle  being  unexpectedly 
at  the  city  on  business.  He  performed  the  journey  on  horse- 
back, then  the  usual  mode,  leading  by  the  bridle  father's 
old  grey  mare,  for  Mary's  use.  Long  as  well  as  lonely  was 
the  way,  two  or  three  days  being  occupied  in  travelling  the 
same  route  now  passed  by  railroad  in  a  few  hours.  At  that 
time,  neither  wagons,  nor  carriages  of  any  sort,  were  in 
common  use  in  Wayland.  The  weekly  mail  was  brought 
upon  the  back  of  a  single  horse,  where  now  the  daily  car 
carries  the  news  of  these  more  noisy  times  in  papers  and  let- 
ters, by  the  hundred  weight.  About  this  time  we  were 
delighted  to  receive  a  visit  from  our  cousin,  Lyman  Gove, 
who  lived  upon  one  of  the  West  India  islands.  His  mother, 
Aunt  Cass,  was  a  dear  sister  of  my  father's.  Her  house 
was  near  the  church,  and  there  my  father  invariably  spent 
the  intermission  between  services  on  Sunday  ;  and  it  was  a 
season  of  sweet  enjoyment  and  Christian  converse,  for  they 
were  both  one,  in  tender  affection  and  devoted  piety. 

Aunt  Cass  had  been  twice  married,  and  Cousin  Lyman 


COUNTRY   SCENKG.     *  87 

was  the  son  of  her  first  husband.  He  had  married  a  Creole 
lady,  and  had  with  him  on  this  visit,  his  two  little  sons. 
Funny,  little,  dark-complexioned,  frolicsome  fellows  we 
thought  them.  It  chanced  once,  when  they  were  staying  at 
our  house  for  a  few  days,  that  there  fell,  during  the  night, 
a  little  light  snow,  as  sometimes  premonitory  signals  of  win- 
ter will  come,  in  the  latter  part  of  autumn/while  the  weather 
is  yet  mild.  In  the  morning  Sidney,  the  eldest,  having  gone 
out  early,  came  bounding  into  the  house  in  wild  excitement, 
screaming  to  his  brother, 

"  Oh,  Martin  !  Martin  !  come  out  here — the  ground  is  all 
covered  with  white  sugar  I" 

Their  wonder  and  curiosity  about  the  snow — for  they  had 
never  before  seen  any — afforded  us  much  amusement. 

During  this  visit,  Aunt  Cass's  daughter,  Lucy  Cass,  was 
married  ;  but  of  the  wedding,  or  its  festivities,  I  remember 
nothing.  The  event  was  chiefly  memorable  to  us,  because 
our  sister  Hester,  Lucy's  especial  favorite,  accompanied  her 
to  her  new  home  in  Rutland,  Vermont.  She  stayed  there 
more  than  a  year,  and  always  retained  a  vivid  recollection 
of  "  Father  Haynes,"  the  well-known  colored  preacher  of 
that  place,  and  of  her  sport  with  his  little  girls.  When 
she  returned  home  she  managed  her  horse  without  assist- 
ance, during  the  whole  ride  of  sixty  or  seventy  miles,  riding 
fifty  miles  in  one  day,  which  made  an  impression  on  my 
mind,  as  being  esteemed  a  remarkable  feat  for  a  girl  so 
young,  for  she  was  not  quite  eleven  years  old. 

The  cold  weather  came  on  apace,  and  no  period  of  my 
childhood  or  youth  rises  before  me  in  brighter,  warmer 


88  HOME. 

coloring  than  this.  We  were  a  merry  group  of  sisters  ; 
Mary  and  Bessy,  Grace  and  myself,  occupied  one  chamber, 
and  at  night,  after  retiring,  was  the  special  time  of  sisterly 
conferences  on  all  topics.  We  all  attended  school  together, 
and  when  the  rays  of  the  early  morning  sun  sparkled  all 
over  the  dazzling  winter  prospect,  the  expanse  of  field  and 
hill,  then  would  Grace  and  I  bound  over  the  snow,  piled  on 
either  side  of  the  path,  often  so  hard  frozen  and  firm  that 
we  could  slide  down  the  drifted  hillocks,  or  run  as  we  listed 
over  the  smooth,  shining  surface  of  the  fields.  Oh  !  I  can 
see  again  the  slight,  flexible  figure  Of  Grace,  as,  swift  as  a 
fawn,  with  a  wild  ringing  laugh,  she  would  start  on  a  race, 
and  leave  me  far  behind  at  the  first ;  but  I  was  fleet  and 
nimble  too,  and  besides,  she  would  soonest  loose  breath,  for 
her  slender  person  could  not  oppose  the  rude  Borean  breeze 
so  well  as  my  shorter  and  firmer  knit  frame.  Oh,  how  the 
keen,  cold,  cutting  air  made  the  young  blood  dance  in  our 
veins,  raising  our  spirits  to  the  most  hilarious  delight,  as  we 
careered  along  on  our  way,  to  gain  betimes  the  old  square- 
roofed  brick  school-house. 

There  the  uproar  of  shouting  boys,  noisy  talk  and  glee, 
rose  and  swelled  ever  louder  and  louder  as  the  moment 
neared  for  the  master's  grave  approach,  with  rod  and 
ferule,  to  still  the  tumult  into  awe-stricken  silence  and 
order. 

There  was  a  singing-school,  too,  that  winter,  the  first  I 
ever  attended.  That  was  pleasure,  indeed,  and  neither 
hunger  nor  cold  were  felt  in  our  enjoyment  of  its  hours. 
We  lived  quite  too  far  away  to  go  home  and  return  again 


COUNTRY   SCENES.  89 

for  the  evening,  so,  if  it  chanced  that  a  morsel  of  bread  and 
cheese  was  left  of  our  dinner,  we  were  glad  ;  if  not,  we 
could  dispense  with  our  supper,  without  a  thought,  and 
enjoy,  oh,  how  much  !  the  gathering  with  our  mates  around 
the  large  open  fire-place,  as  the  ruddy  glow  faded  from  the 
west.  As  the  night  shut  in,  the  blazing  fire  of  huge  logs 
piled  one  above  another,  roared  in  the  ample  chimney,  cast- 
ing its  red  glare  on  the  motley  group  assembled  around  it, 
talking,  singing,  or,  perchance,  whispering  fearful  tales  to 
the  credulous,  suggested  by  the  darkness  without,  or  the 
strange,  gigantic,  flickering  shadows  moving  and  darkening 
on  the  walls  within. 

The  capacious  chimney  was  built  in  the  wall,  opposite 
the  door,  leaving  a  large  recess  on  either  side  ;  one  was 
the  receptacle  of  the  formidable  pile  of  logs  for  the  even- 
ing's consumption  ;  in  the  other  was  the  smaller  pile  of 
pitch-pine  knots,  contributed  from  various  quarters,  "of 
the  best  kind,  carefully  selected."  This  mode  of  lighting 
an  apartment,  so  novel  in  our  day,  was  then  quite  common, 
being  both  economical  and  convenient,  and  as  the  dry, 
resinous  wood  blazed  fiercely  up,  every  nook  and  corner 
became  bright  and  cheerful  as  they  were  filled  with  the 
brilliant  light. 

For  those  who  loved  music  as  well  as  I  did,  where  could 
be  found  such  a  whole  evening  full  of  enjoyment  as  was  here 
afforded  ?  The  strong,  hearty  voices  of  the  young  men  and 
maidens  rolled  out  the  notes  of  Coronation,  and  Russia,  and 
chased  each  other  through  the  labyrinthian  passages  of 
Exhortation,  Sardinia,  and  Delight. 


90  HOME. 

Are  the  parties  and  formal  visits,  which  now  usurp  its 
place,  really  any  pleasanter,  with  their  chit-chat  and  fash- 
ionable small-talk,  than  was  the  singing-school,  where  were 
commenced  and  cemented  lasting  friendships,  aye,  and  loves 
too,  for  half  the  "  courting"  was  done  there  in  those  primi- 
tive New  England  times. 


SUITOK3.  91 


CHAPTER    XV. 

SUITORS. 

"  That  heart,  methinks, 

Were  of  strange  mould,  which  kept  no  cherished  p.-i.it 
Of  early,  happy  times,  when  life  WHS  fresh, 
And  love  and  innocence  made  holiday." 

MARY,  strange  to  say,  required  solicitation  to  induce  her 
to  join  in  the  singing,  wont  to  be  her  delight.  A  change 
had  come  over  her  spirit,  her  character  was  becoming  deeper 
in  its  tone,  more  earnest,  she  was  intent  upon  her  studies, 
improving  each  spare  moment.  Evening  after  evening  was 
aow  spent  in  poring  over  problems  with  the  teacher,  both 
absorbed  in  study,  or  conversation  on  various  knotty  points. 

The  teacher's  visits,  indeed,  became  so  frequent,  as  win- 
ter sped,  as  to  excite  some  doubts  as  to  their  disinterested 
nature  ;  but,  to  Mary  herself,  they  were  at  that  time  only 
the  means  of  more  rapid  improvement  in  her  favorite  studies. 
'  This  teacher  was  the  only  son  of  Colonel  Lyman,  who 
occupied  a  farm  in  a  remote  part  of  Wayland.  The  father 
had  served  with  honor  in  the.  Revolutionary  war,  was  a  high- 
toned  gentleman,  priding  himself  on  his  standing  and  charac- 
ter. He  was,  indeed,  regarded  with  a  respect  bordering 
upon  awe,  by  many  of  his  neighbors.  His  farm  was  valua- 
ble, his  house  the  best  in  Wayland,  being  built  in  antique 
English  style  ;  large,  square  entrance  hall,  long  kitchen, 


92  HOME. 

and  spacious,  wainscoted  rooms,  an  ample,  well-furnished 
farm-house  ;  in  later  years  the  home  of  Mary. 

Col.  Lyman  employed  several  workmen,  and  was  accus- 
tomed to  take  his  meals  with  them,  though  always  preserv- 
ing much  commanding  dignity  in  his  demeanor.  His  wife, 
usually  designated  "  Madam  Lyman,"  was  extremely  penu- 
rious, careless  of  the  opinion  of  others,  with  vast  energy  of 
character,  chiefly  displayed  in  her  thrifty  housekeeping  and 
good  management.  I  have  heard  my  father  relate  an  anec- 
dote characteristic  of  her.  At  the  evening  meal,  which  was 
ordinarily  of  bread  and  milk,  her  husband's  dish  was  distin- 
guished by  a  silver  spoon,  while  the  workmen  were  served 
with  pewter.  On  one  occasion,  one  of  the  men  adroitly 
slipped  his  own  spoon  into  the  colonel's  dish,  and  exchanged 
the  bowls. 

No  sooner  had  the  colonel  commenced  his  repast,  than, 
stopping  short,  he  pushed  back  his  chair,  then  instantly  con- 
ceiving the  trick  and  its  motive,  he  angrily  exclaimed, 

"  Wife  !  have  you  given  us  skimmed  milk  to  eat  ?  New 
milk  is  none  too  good  for  me  ;  and  my  workmen  shall  fare 
as  well  as  I  do." 

With  some  confusion,  Madam  Lyman  took  away  the 
dishes,  and  re-filled  them  with  richer  and  more  palatable 
milk  ;  and  it  was  long  before  she  tried  again  that  method 
of  saving.  She  was  fond  of  money,  seldom  missed  an  oppor- 
tunity of  making  or  saving  a  penny,  nor  was  she  over-scru- 
pulous as  to  the  means  of  doing  it.  They  had  four  daughters. 
The  eldest  was  the  wife  of  a  thrifty  farmer  living  near  us. 
I  remember  her  for  her  high,  whining  tone  of  voice,  sound- 


SUITORS.  93 

ing  as  if  she  were  just  ready  to  cry,  and  for  her  habit  of 
interspersing  "  dear"  in  her  conversation,  very  freely,  to 
every  one,  and  on  every  occasion.  She  was  much  like  her 
mother  ;  in  her  eyes  no  amount  of  moral  excellence  could 
compensate  for  the  want  of  worldly  advantages.  She,  con- 
sequently, was  not  well  pleased  with  her  brother's  intimacy 
in  our  family,  when  she  became  aware  of  his  liking  for  Mary. 

The  next  daughter,  Xenia  Lymau,  was  observable  for  her 
high  pretensions,  lofty  air  and  carriage,  o'erlooking  and  o'er- 
topping  all  her  companions.  She  was  aspiring,  and  really 
talented,  and  was  subsequently  principal  of  a  celebrated 
female  seminary  in  Boston,  where  she  remained  till  her 
death.  I  well  remember  her  tall  commanding  form  at 
church,  as,  with  head  erect,  she  walked  with  slow  and 
stately  step  the  length  of  the  aisle  to  her  father's  pew.  Her 
two  sisters  usually  followed,  Mary,  with  the  most  meek, 
down-looking,  unpretending  air,  and  Abby,  taller  than  Mary, 
though  the  younger,  an  awkward  girl,  with  a  heedless,  wan- 
dering gait,  her  teeth  protruding  through  her  half-opened 
lips.  Few  then  would  have  seen,  in  the  uncouth  girl,  the 
germ  of  the  noble,  accomplished  woman  she  afterwards  be- 
came. With  her  is  associated  the  memory  of  some  of  my 
happiest  days,  and  she  is  still  living,  honored  and  useful  in 
one  of  our  most  favored  cities. 

Our  teacher,  Samuel  Lyman,  an  only  son,  was  early  im- 
bued with  ideas  of  family  importance,  but  was  a  young  man 
of  noble,  elevated  character,  with  high  regard  to  honor  and 
upright  principles  of  action.  He  was  somewhat  awkward, 
and  not  very  prepossessing  in  appearance,  yet  he  was  well 


94  HOME. 

educated  and  sensible,  chiefly  noticeable,  however,  for  a  cer- 
tain pompous  manner  of  expressing  himself,  rolling  high- 
sounding  words  out  from  the  depths  of  his  throat,  seeming, 
but  for  his  perfect  naturalness  and  simplicity,  like  inflated, 
ridiculous  bombast. 

There  where  others,  too,  who  were  applicants  for  Mary's 
favor,  and  who  sought  to  renew  her  interest  in  her  former 
gaieties  ;  for,  though  cheerful  and  even  gay  at  home,  since 
her  return  from  Boston,  and  her  chapter  of  heart  experi- 
ence there,  she  had  become  indifferent  to  company,  and  to 
attentions  from  other  admirers.  Our  cousin,  David  Leland, 
a  familiar  guest,  had  long  manifested  a  preference  for  her, 
and  would  have  compassed  sea  and  land  to  win  her  heart, 
but  he  well  knew  his  wishes  were  vain.  Charles  Coke,  too, 
was  a  frequent  visitor,  though  in  quite  a  general  way  ;  in- 
deed, he  seemed  to  take  more  notice  of  Grace  a"nd  myself, 
simple,  mirth-loving  little  girls,  as  we  were,  than  of  Mary 
or  Bessy.  He  was  just  about  Mary's  age,  rather  handsome, 
and  even  then  spoken  of  as  a  fine  young  man.  He  spoke 
slowly,  in  a  mild,  grave  tone,  and  thought  seemed  to  sit 
waiting  for  utterance  on  his  broad,  serious  brow.  His  gen- 
tleness, sincerity,  and  sweet,  cordial  manner,  won  our  hearts. 

His  father,  Mr.  Jacob  Coke,  was  an  early  resident,  and 
occupied  the  finest  situation  in  Valley  Brook.  He  owned 
a  large  farm,  several  mills,  and  was  reputed  the  richest 
man  in  Wayland.  His  house  had  a  noble  site  on  the  slope 
of  the  valley,,  overlooking  the  green  meadows  and  the 
flowery  banks  of  the  clear  running  brook,  and  commanding 
one  of*  the  boldest  and  most  picturesque  views  of  Pine 


SUITOBB.  95 

Mountain.  On  the  other  side,  the  level  road  stretched 
far  down  the  opening  valley,  traced  and  dotted  by  farm- 
houses and  cottages,  half-veiled  by  tall  poplars  and  rows  of 
bowery  maples.  There  was  a  large  family  of  the  Cokes, 
twelve  in  all  ;  several  of  them  grown  up,  and  distinguished 
rather  by  sound,  practical  sense  and  upright  stability  of 
character,  joined  to  a  warm-hearted  genial  nature,  than  by 
any  high  pretensions  or  shining  qualities,  either  of  person 
or  mind.  Of  Charles,  I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  again, 
a  little  further  on  in  my  story. 

Bessy,  too,  shy,  awkward,  silent  Bessy,  began  to  have 
her  share  of  attention.  Our  neighbor,  Jonas  Crokey, 
school  companion  in  years  gone  by,  when  I  used  .to  stand 
beside  him  in  the  class  and  look  up  to  him,  an  over-grown, 
thick-headed  boy,  half  in  fear,  half  in  mirth,  as  in  sullen 
discomfiture  he  was  wont  to  yield  place  after  place  to 
quicker-witted  scholars  of  half  his  stature.  Jonas  got 
quite  into  the  habit,  about  this  time,  of  "  coming  in  "  of  an 
evening  in  a  friendly  way  ;  not,  indeed,  that  he  made  him- 
self remarkably  social,  apparently  he  had  few  thoughts  in 
his  head,  or  small  power  to  express  them. 

He  would  sit  and  gaze  like  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes, 
not,  indeed,  at  Bessy,  bat  alternately  at  the  walls  and 
ceiling,  most  of  all,  fixing  hts  eyes  pertinaciously  on  the 
brightest  spot  in  the  blazing  fire. 

When  he  did  venture  a  remark  on  the  weather  or  the 
news,  he  invariably  addressed  Bessy,  who  had  to  bear  a 
multitude  of  jokes  on  his  account.  She  took  all  in  good 
part,  however,  disclaiming  any  particular  concern  with  his 


96  HOME. 

visits;  yet  I  noticed  more  than  once  an  air  of  vexation 
pass  over  her  face,  when  he  would  come  familiarly  to  the 
kitchen  door,  raise  the  latch,  and  announce  himself  with 
"  Good  evening,  Miss  Bessy,  it's  a  pretty  cold  night  ;"  then 
seat  himself  and  gaze  into  the  fire  as  usual. 

It  must  be  confessed,  we  were  somewhat  disposed  to 
make  fun  of  him,  but  my  father  would  allow  nothing  of  it 
in  his  presence,  always  treating  him  with  marked  courtesy. 
It  was  not  until  the  beginning  of  summer  that  Jonas  found 
courage,  or  perhaps  a  fitting  occasion  to  make  a  formal 
declaration  of  his  wishes  to  Bessy.  At  the  close  of  their 
interview,  the  unsuccessful  wooer  took  from  his  purse  a 
silver  piece,  and  offered  it  to  her,  remarking,  "  Money  is 
scarce  and  havd  to  be  got,  or  I  would  give  you  more." 

Painful  ar>  it  was  to  her  to  accept  a  bit  of  money  from  a 
discarded  puitor,  she  would  not  wound  his  feelings  by  refus- 
ing it,  while,  on  his  part,  it  showed  that  he  felt  the  genuine 
sympathy  and  exquisite  kindness  by  which  she  softened  her 
refusal. 

This  affair  was  still  more  painful  to  her,  because  his  suit 
was  favored  by  our  father.  Entering  the  chamber  that 
night,  I  found  Mary  and  Bessy  busily  talking  ;  Bessy  in 
tears.  She  had  just  had  a  conversation  with  our  father,  in 
which  he  had  expressed  much  regret  at  her  decision,  asking 
her  to  reconsider  the  matter.  He  represented  to  her  the 
eligible  home  it  would  secure  her,  near  hjm — for  Jonas  had 
a  good  farm,  and  was  steady  and  industrious,  and  if  he 
knew  little  else,  he  was  not  ignorant  of  the  state  of  his 
flocks.  It  might  seem  that  our  father  was  unduly  influ- 


SUITORS.  97 

enced  by  worldly  considerations  ;  but  he  was  poor,  with  a 
family  of  nine  children,  six  of  them  girls,  for  whom  he  could 
hope  to  do  but  little. 

Bessy  could  scarcely  expect  a  better  opportunity  to 
settle  in  life,  since,  plain  in  person  and  shrinking  from 
notice,  her  merits  would  be  overlooked. 

Invaluable,  almost  essential,  as  were  her  services  in  the 
family,  yet  his  anxiety  for  her  good  made  it  a  sore  disap- 
pointment at  the  time,  that  his  beloved  daughter  should 
decline  so  good  a  situation  as  being  the  mistress  of  the 
smart  red  house  and  broad  fields  of  Jonas  Crokey.  Bessy, 
truly  humble  in  self-estimation,  fully  believed  no  other  pros- 
pect could  be  in  store  for  her,  and  she  desired  no  other  than 
a  life  of  patient,  unnoticed,  self-denying  toil,  forgetting  her- 
self, and  finding  her  happiness  in  ministering  to  others. 


98 


CHAPTER   XYI. 

SOBER   REALITIES. 
"Touch  us  gently,  Time !" 

As  spring  advanced,  Grace  began  to  droop  ;  she  became 
languid,  her  step  feeble,  and,  her  fragile  form  seemed  to 
fade  away  before  the  warm  breath  of  the  renewing  year. 
She  had  been  too  severely  taxed  the  past  winter,  by  expo- 
sure to  the  cold,  and  exertions  in  attending  school,  and 
more  than  all,  by  the  long  evening  walks  after  singing 
school,  which  yet,  she  enjoyed  too  much  to  forego  willingly. 
Now,  the  exhilarating  cold  and  pleasant  excitement  were 
succeeded  by  the  relaxing,  sunny  days  which  often  herald 
the  reign  of  summer.  The  reaction  proved  too  much  for 
her  frame,  a  fever  set  in,  and  she  was  reduced  to  the  feeble- 
ness of  an.  infant,  hovering  between  life  and  death: 

But  we  were  spared  this  great  sorrow  then.  On  the  night 
of  the  fever's  crisis,  when  she  lay  in  her  utter  weakness,  in 
a  sort  of  stupor,  wrestling  with  death,  our  afflicted  father 
called  us  together  around  her  bed.  Then  kneeling,  he 
prayed  to  his  heavenly  Father,  "with  strong  crying  and 
tears,"  that  He  would  not  cut  her  down  in  her  youth  like 
an  untimely  flower,  but  bid  her  live,  to  serve  and  honor  the 
God  of  his  fathers.  His  low,  earnest  voice  became  broken 
ami  faltering,  as  at  length  he  bowed  his  head  humbly,  sub- 
missively saying,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 


SOBEB   BEALITIES.  99 

I  slept  little  that  night.  I  believed  my  father's  prayer 
would  be  answered.  I  tried  to  pray,  many  thoughts 
crowded  into  my  mind — thoughts  of  neglected  duty — of 
forgetfulness  of  God ;  above  all,  the  agonizing  fear  of  death, 
that  dark  portal  to  an  unknown  land.  The  form  of  my 
sainted  graudfather  rose  before  my  mind,  as  seated  in  his 
chair,  too  feeble  to  rise,  he  would  pour  forth  his  earnest 
pleading  prayers.  The  many  kind  counsels  and  warnings  of 
my  grandmother  too — alas  !  so  long  forgotten  and  neglected, 
now  came  fresh  to  my  recollection. 

Lovely  and  beloved,  as  was  my  sister,  conscience  too 
plainly  whispered,  that  she  too  had  been  careless  of  prayer, 
— had  been  intent  upon  the  pleasures  of  her  joyous  young 
life,  and  not  upon  the  high  duties  and  solemn  destiny  of  her 
immortal  soul. 

I  felt  that  she  was  unfit  to  die,  and  yet,  she  might  even 
then  be  passing  through  the  dark  valley.  The  resolutions 
I  made  that  night,  were  never  afterwards  quite  forgotten. 
The  next  morning  Grace  was  awake  and  conscious,  colorless 
as  the  sheet  on  which  she  lay,  her  eye  uncertain  in  its 
languid  gaze,  but  the  danger  was  past,  the  fluttering  spark 
of  life  though  feeble  now  brightened,  and  joy  and  thankful- 
ness reigned  in  the  house.  Slowly  and  gradually  recovering, 
she  regained  at  length,  her  nsual  buoyant  activity,  and  even 
increased  vigor  and  firmer  health,  as  if  the  ebbing  springs 
of  life  pressed  back  to  their  source — had  started  afresh, 
purified  and  strengthened  by  the  mighty  struggle.  We  felt 
that  she  was  once  more  ours. 

Mary  commenced  this  summer,  her  first  experience  in 


100 

teaching,  and  she  ccntinued  for  several  successive  seasons 
this  excellent  discipline  for  the  mind  and  heart.  Her  first 
effort  was  in  a  small  obscure  town  adjoining,  and  much  is 
revealed  of  the  state  of  things  in  those  early  times,  by  the 
fact,  that  she  received  in  pay  a  written  promise  of  "  a  good 
cow  with  a  vantage  heifer,"  as  it  was  quaintly  expressed  in 
the  obligation.  This  was  deemed  better  than  the  "  town 
order "  usually  given,  and  a  mark  of  uncommonly  high 
estimation  of  her  services. 

Cousin  Bessy  Hastings  visited  Wayland  this  season. 
She  was  a  fair,  delicate,  gleeful  girl,  finding  infinite  amuse- 
ment in  our  country  ways  and  rustic  habits,. accustomed  as 
she  was  to  the  bland,  polished  airs  of  the  eity,  and  to  a 
mode  of  life  remarkably  quiet,  unvaried  and  methodical. 
She  was  nice  and  exact  in  her  ideas  of  propriety.  Some- 
times she  was  quite  scandalized  at  the  greater  latitude  of 
manners  in  rural  life,  on  our  free  hills.  The  first  day  after 
her  arrival  being  Sunday,  she  rode  to  church  behind  uncle 
Ja^es  on  horseback,  which,  though  quite  the  post  of  honor 
acceding  to  our  customs,  was  a  great  annoyance  to  her, 
and  she  complained  piteously  to  us  the  next  day,  half  in 
mirth,  half  in  vexation. 

"How  I  felt,"  said  she,  "perched  up  so  high  on  the 
horse,  with  my  feet  dangling,  and  to  be  obliged  to  put  my 
arm  round  a  man,  and  hold  on  by  the  button-hole  of  his 
coat.  I  was  so  ashamed  1" 

She  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  modern  fashionable  prac- 
tice of  embracing  one's  partner  in  the  waltz  !  My  gentle 
cousin  became  in  time,  quite  familiar  with  all  like  honors, 


SOBER   BEAUTIES.  101 

and  spite  of  a  little  over-fastidiousness,  her  visit  gave  us 
much  delight,  she  was  so  genial  in  her  mirth,  so  fertile  in 
finding  pleasure  in  everything.  She  acquired  considerable 
skill  in  managing  a  horse,  and  liked  it  extremely.  She 
attempted  too,  to  learn  to  spin,  but  her  merriment  over  the 
wheel  prevented  much  proficiency.  She  carried  home  a 
much  deeper  color  on  her  cheeks,  and  a  far  better  acquaint- 
ance with  nature,  than  was  hers,  when  she  took  her  first 
lonely  journey  through  the  long  patches  of  woods,  and 
viewed  with  astonishment  the  lofty  trees  pointing  skyward, 
excluding  all  prospect  save  its  blue  canopy,  and  looked 
almost  bewildered  upon  the  wide  extent  of  field  and  hill, 
the  waving  verdure,  and  the  ever-changing  beauty  of  a 
country  landscape. 


102 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HOME   LIFE. 

THREE  years  had  passed.  We  were  again  seated  on  our 
favorite  'rock,  watching  the  slowly  setting  sun,  on  one  of 
those  mild,  hazy  autumn  days  in  whieh  the  waning  year 
seems  to  pause,  brooding  oyer  the  tranquil  earth.  The 
woods  were  just  tipped  and  sprinkled  with  pale  yellow  and 
crimson,  amid  their  dark  depth  of  verdure  ;  all  was  in  sweet 
harmony  with  the  joy  and  content  of  our  hearts. 

Grace  had  that  day  returned  to  us,  after  another  absence 
of  more  than  a  year.  We  had  much  to  say.  We  were  all 
five  clustered  together,  in  various  attitudes,  all  talking  by 
turns^ 

Alger,  too,  was  there,  seated  a  little  lower  down,  on  the 
edge  of  the  rocky  hillock,  his  back  partly  turned  towards 
us,  gazing  at  the  western  sky,  often  turning  his  eyes  to 
drink  in  every  word  that  was  said ;  yet  with  the  quiet,  grave 
air  which  was  his  wont.  Oh,  how  lovely  looked  our  Grace, 
as  with  animated,  happy  face,  she  spoke  from  the  fullness 
of  her  warm  heart  of  the  kind  friend  with  whom  she  had 
been  staying ! 

"vDear  Mrs.  Brintnall  has  been  so  good  to  me  !"  said  she ; 
"  If  I  had  been  her  own  daughter,  she  could  not  have  been 
more  watchful  to  consult  my  happiness  in  every  thing;  lov- 
ing and  caring  for  me  for  the  sake  of  our  dear  mother, 


HOME  LIFE.  103 

whom  she  loved  so  well.    And  Bessy,  I  have  borne  your  name 
almost  all  the  time!" 

"  Why  was  that  ?"  asked  Bessy. 

"  Oh,  at  first,  Mrs.  Brintnall  would  constantly  mistake, 
and  call  me  by  my  mother's  name,  because  she  thought  I 
looked  so  much  as  she  used  to ;  and  afterwards  she  said  I 
must  let  her  call  me  so  while  I  stayed,  for  it  brought  back 
her  childish  days." 

"  Did  she  and  our  mother  live  together  when  they  were 
little  girls  ?"  asked  Hester. 

"  Yes  ;  she  says  they  lived  side  by  side,  and  went  to  the 
same  school ;  they  shared  the  same  tasks,  and  played 
together  among  the  beautiful  groves  of  Roxbury  Common, 
and  she  told  me  much  of  their  frolics  on  the  shady  banks  of 
the  pond  on  the  plains,  then  so  wild  and  lonely.  Oh,  she 
is  a  noble-hearted  woman  !  She  has  been  like  a  mother  to 
me.  You  know  her  husband  left  her  but  a  small  income, 
and  she  has  her  two  boys  to  provide  for;  yet  she  would 
purchase  things  for  me,  and  instead  of  letting  me  help  her 
in  her  work,  she  has  taken  great  pains  to  give  me  some  of 
her  own  exquisite  skill  in  different  kinds  of  sewing.  And 
BO,  young  ladies,"  said  she,  smiling  and  courtseying,  "I  have 
the  pleasure  of  introducing  to  you  Miss  Grace  Leland, 
fashionable  dress-maker  ;  and  if  you  do  not  choose  to  pa- 
tronize me,  I  will  volunteer  my  services  to  remodel  my 
father's  wardrobe." 

"  Oh,  never  fear,"  said  Mary,  "  but  we  shall  all  be  dis- 
posed to  bring  your  numerous  accomplishments  to  an  imme- 
diate test." 


104  HOME. 

» 

"  I  do  not  doubt  you  will  find  exercise  for  all  your  skill," 
said  Bessy;  "  and  nothing  could  be  more  kind  and  consider- 
ate for  Mrs.  Brintnall,  as  she  knew  the  circumstances  of 
the  family,  than  to  fit  you  to  be  useful  at  home,  instead  of 
filling  your  head  with  all  sorts  of  fine  notions." 

"  She  used  to  say,"  said  Grace,  "  that,  among  several 
daughters,  one  should  have  it  her  province  to  know  how  to 
do  all  kinds  of  sewing." 

11  Oh,  Grace,"  said  Mary,  "do  tell  us  about  your  visit  to 
Boston ;  I  want  to  hear  all  about  Aunt  Hastings  and  Cousin 


"  I  went  there  with  Mrs.  Brintnall  last  June.  She  and 
Aunt  Hastings  enjoyed  so  much  together,  talking  of  old 
tunes !  Oh  1  Aunt  Hastings  is  so  beautiful,  so  queen-like  1 
she  could  hardly  speak  to  me  at  first ;  she  looked  steadily 
at  me  a  moment,  and  then  her  eyes  filled  with  tears." 

"It  was  because  you  look  so  much  like  our  mother," 
said  I. 

"  Yes,  she  said  it  recalled  her  sister  to  her  mind,  just  as 
she  was  in  their  young  days,  when  they  were  at  home 
together." 

"  Did  you  go  out  to  the  Plains  ?"  asked  Mary. 

"  Oh  1  yes,  a  party  of  us  went  out  there ;  and  what  a 
paradise  it  is  1  more  beautiful  than  you  told  us,  after  your 
visit.  The  little  groves  of  high  trees  close  on  the  banks  of 
that  beautiful  pond,  and  all  around  so  level,  and  green,  and 
smooth.  Did  you  see  Mr.  Willard's  house  ?" 

"No,"  said  Mary,  "it  was  not  built  when  I  was  there  ; 
all  around  the  pond  was  covered  with  woods." 


HOME    1,11  I'.  105 

"  It  is  an  elegant  mansion,"  said  Grace,  "  overlooking 
the  pond  ;  winding  paths  lead  from  the  gardens,  through 
the  shrubbery.  It  is  wild  and  solitary,  yet  it  is  a  lovely 
landscape.  It  often  goes  by  the  name  of  Jamaica." 

"  But  do  tell  us  about  Cousin  Bessy." 

"  Oh,  she  talked  a  great  deal  about  her  visit  to  Way- 
land,  and  says  she  means  to  come  again  next  summer.  Her 
brother  is  very  agreeable.  He  will  soon  be  married.  I 
never  saw  a  finer  looking  man.  But  Alger  says  the  dew  is 
falling;  see,  his  hand  is  quite  wet  where  he  has  felt  the 
grass  ;  let  us  go  in." 

Half  an  hour  after,  Grace  and  I  were  walking  back  and 
forth  on  the  turf  before  the  house,  in  the  soft  moonlight, 
our  heads  enveloped  in  the  same  shawl,  while  we  busily 
talked  on  various  topics. 

"  Do  tell  me  about  this  doctor,  that  comes  to  see 
Mary." 

"  It  is  young  Dr.  Emery,"  said  I  ;  "  Clark  Emery,  you 
remember,  "son  of  Mr.  Emery  on  Flower  Hill.  He  has 
been  away  from  town,  some  years,  pursuing  his  studies. 
He  is  considered  a  good  scholar,  and  quite  skillful." 

"  Oh,"said  Grace,  "  I  can  just  recollect  him  at  school,  but 
I  had  quite  settled  it  that  Mary  would  marry  her  old  beau, 
Sam  Lyman." 

"  So  had  I,  and  I  sometimes  think  she  does  prefer  him  ; 
I  half  believe  she  would  have  him,  if  it  were  not  for  his 
mother  and  sister,  Mrs.  Goldring,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  nobody  minds  Mrs.  Goldring,"  said  Grace,  "  she  is 
always  whining  out  some  complaint  or  other." 


106  HOME. 

"Well,  both  she  and  her  mother  have  said  some  ill- 
natured  things  that  Mary  will  not  easily  brook,  sweet- 
tempered  and  forgiving  as  she  is,  about  his  marrying  a 
penniless  girl,  as  they  say." 

"  I  hope  she  will  not  condescend  to  accept  him,"  exclaimed 
Grace.  "  Her  noble  qualities  and  real  loveliness  are  worth 
more  than  all  the  dowries  in  Wayland." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  Sam  is  quite  of  that  opinion,  and  if  he 
were  entirely  independent  of  his  mother,  it  would  matter 
little  to  him  what  she  thought.  But  you  recollect  Colonel 
Lyman  died  suddenly,  the  property  is  somewhat  embar- 
rassed, and  Madam  Lyman  and  her  son  manage  it  toge- 
ther." 

"  How  finely  Mary  looks,"  said  Grace ;  "  she  is  hand- 
somer than  ever,  and  her  face  has  such  a  sweet,  serious 
expression." 

When,  again,  we  were  all  together  at  night,  there  was 
much  free  and  happy  talk,  and  many  sportive  jests  on 
Mary's  dilemma,  and  the  course  she  had  best  pursue.  She, 
herself,  as  lively  as  any  of  us,  asked  each  one  in  turn,  half 
laughing,  half  serious,  which  of  her  suitors  she  should 
accept.  Mary  was,  indeed,  sorely  puzzled  to  decide 
between  the  two  rival  claimants  for  her  hand.  Young 
Lyman  had  persevered  long  in  his  attentions,  and  probably 
would  before  this  have  won  her  consent,  had  she  been  sure 
of  being  cordially  welcomed  into  his  family.  To  Dr.  Emery 
there  was  no  objection  ;  he  was  kind-hearted,  manly  and 
sincere  ;  a  tall,  dark-haired,  good-looking  man,  and  a  good 
physician.  It  was  not  long  before  her  decision  was  made 


HOME   LIFE.  107 

in  his  favor,  and  soon  after  he  received  a  pressing  invitation 
to  visit  the  province  of  Maine,  with  a  prospect  of  an  advan- 
tageous settlement  in  his  profession. 

He  determined  upon  going,  to  return  in  one  year  for 
Mary.  He  urged  their  immediate  marriage,  but  that  was 
overruled  ;  they  were,  however,  "  published,"  just  before  he 
left,  in  compliance  with  his  wish.  Mary,  too,  being  not 
unwilling  that  her  relation  to  him  should  be  generally 
understood. 

Next  came  the  great  era  in  Bessy's  life.  At  the  dis- 
tance of  a  mile  or  so  from  us,  lived  a  family  of  the  name  of 
Cotting.  Mr.  Seth  dotting  was  one  of  the  deacons  of  the 
church,  a  most  exemplary  man,  remarkable  for  the  sobriety 
of  his  habits,  and  the  precision  of  his  manners.  He  had, 
apparently,  never  deviated  in  the  smallest  minntia  from  the 
customs  of  his  father  Seth,  which  customs  he  again  was 
transmitting  inviolate  to  his  son  Seth.  This  young  man 
had  reached  the  age  of  twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight ;  a 
sober,  steady,  truly  excellent  character,  seldom  mixing  in 
any  company,  and  though  among  young  men  of  that  period, 
habits  of  general  gallantry  prevailed,  he  was  never  known 
to  offer  any  particular  mark  of  civility  to  a  female,  scarcely, 
indeed,  to  raise  his  eyes,  or  speak  to  a  young  lady.  He 
had  never  been  at  our  house,  unless  it  might  be  an  acciden- 
tal call  on  business,  nor  were  we  at  all  acquainted  with  him. 
This  shy  and  bashful,  but  really  meritorious  person,  was 
seen  one  day  slowly  coming  down  the  lane  towards  the 
Louse.  Bessy  espied  him  from  the  window,  and  afterwards 
declared  that  with  an  instant  flash  she  divined  hia  visit,  and 


108  HOME. 

that  its  motive  respected  herself,  with  a  sudden  conviction 
on  her  mind  that  they  would  do  for  each  other,  and  that  it 
would  be  altogether  a  suitable  and  proper  match. 

Of  their  quiet  courtship  there  is  little  need  to  speak  ; 
nothing  occurred  to  ruffle  its  tranquil  course.  One  evening, 
however,  as  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  common  room, 
the  family  having  retired,  Bessy  chanced  to  fix  her  eyes  on 
a  crack  in  the  old  wooden  ceiling  which  separated  this 
room  from  our  parents'  sleeping  apartment,  and  became 
conscious  that  a  large  grey  eye  was  peering  through  the 
crevice  ;  it  was  our  stepmother,  who  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  witness  the  interesting  tete-a-tete  of  this 
steady  couple.  Though  Bessy  was  a  trifle  vexed  at  this 
mode  of  gratifying  her  curiosity,  it  was  so  characteristic 
that  it  furnished  us  all  some  amusement  when  she  told  it 
next  day,  with  a  grave,  comical  air. 

In  the  course  of  the  following  year  Bessy's  home  was 
transferred  to  the  pretty  red  cottage  prepared  for  her  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill  overlooking  Valley  Brook,  with  its 
moving  panorama  of  life  and  beauty.  There 

"  Her  virtues  blossomed  daily,  and  poured  out 
A  fragrance  upon  all  who  in  her  path 
Had  a  blest  fellowship." 

There,  peacefully,  her  quiet,  unobtrusive  life  has  flowed  on; 
contented  and  happy  in  her  retired,  sheltered  home,  her 
visions  of  happiness  have  been  more  than  realized  ;  and  if 
moderate  and  tranquil  have  been  her  joys  and  pleasures, 
light,  too,  have  been  her  sorrows.  More  than  fifty  years 


•»  HOME   LIFE.  109 

have  passed  away,  no  change  has  come  to  their  dwelling, 
save  such  as  are  brought  by  the  gentle  touch  of  time, 
which,  coming  on  unperceived  with  stealthy  steps,  has  gra- 
dually transformed  the  youthful  Bessy  and  her  sober  and 
bashful,  but  most  kind  and  faithful  partner,  into  an  aged 
couple,  with  silvered  hair  and  feeble  step,  tranquilly  look- 
ing toward  the  grave  as  the  entrance  door  to  a  new  and 
glorious  life. 

The  house  echoes  to  the  sound  of  little  feet,  and  merry 
voices,  and  surrounded  by  their  children's  children,  they 
still  live  on  the  well-stocked  farm.  That  old  red  cottage, 
if  dimmed  in  its  brightness,  looks  most  truly  comfortable  ; 
the  tall  pines  still  throw  their  broad  sheltering  shadows  on 
the  green  hill  above  the  house  ;  even  the  stone  horse-block 
casts  its  quiet  shade  under  the  front  windows,  as  of  yore, 
and  while  the  most  rapid  and  startling  changes,  amid  whirl 
and  din,  announce  the  unparalleled  progress  of  modern 
times — while  traffic,  arts,  society  itself,  move  forward  with 
railroad  speed,  all  is  calm  and  unvaried  there ! 


110  HOME. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

ALSER — MART. 

THE  next  year  commenced  with  scenes  of  affliction,  our 
first  great  sorrow  since  the  death  of  our  beloved  mother. 
Alger — our  dear  Alger,  was  suddenly  stricken  down  by 
the  fell  destroyer  1 

I  do  not  know  why  my  memory  recalls  so  little  of  this 
favorite  brother.  During  all  the  period  o.f  which  I  have  been 
speaking,  it  has  ever  been  a  matter  of  regret,  deep  but 
unavailing,  that  so  few  recollections  remain  to  me  of  his 
short  life,  overshadowed  as  it  must  have  been,  by  a  growing 
consciousness  of  his  peculiar  calamity.  How  have  I  won- 
dered since,  that  I  could  have  been  so  selfishly  absorbed  in 
my  own  trifling  pursuits  and  pleasures — the  foolish,  giddy 
thoughts  and  vain  imaginations,  that  so  often  steal  from 
youth  its  precious  short-lived  advantages  !  Oh  1  if  I  had 
but  sought  to  win  access  to  the  inner  cell  of  his  gentle,  sad 
spirit !  Oh  !  to  possess  that  balm — the  memory  of  having 
soothed  and  sweetened  his  impoverished  life,  and  made  some 
atonement  to  a  heart  defrauded  of  half  the  sweet  charities 
and  kindly  sympathies  of  nature  1 

As  a  child,  Alger  was  cheerful  and  lively  in  his  demon- 
strations of  feeling,  making  known  his  thoughts  and  wishes 
by  rapid  signs  and  gestures,  often  unintelligible  to  all  but 
Grace,  who  being  much  with  him  in  early  childhood,  had  quick 


*  ALGEE — MARY.  HI 

interchange  of  ideas,  and  could  interpret  his  different  shades 
of  meaning.  But  he  had  grown  up  quiet,  grave,  reserved, 
as  if  interrogating  his  own  soul,  dumb  indeed,  in  outward 
speech,  but  all  the  more  intense  in  its  silent  comnmnings. 

None  knew — perhaps  none  sought  to  know,  what  surges 
of  conflicting  thoughts  rose  and  swelled  within  the  shut 
caverns  of  his  soul,  and  swept  over  his  straitened  and 
isolated  being, 

He  was  tall  and  slender,  just  verging  towards  manhood, 
with  all  its  aspirations,  its  hopes,  and  its  high  purposes.  He 
felt  the  weight  of  his  coming  responsibilities  and  trusts,  and 
was  visibly  oppressed  by  it.  I  distinctly  remember  his  pale, 
high  forehead,  the  sad  expression  of  bis  face,  and  his  long- 
drawn  sighs,  as  he  sat  among  us,  mute  with  an  absent, 
thoughtful  air.  Was  his  spirit  burdened  by  the  foresha- 
dowing on  his  clear  vision  of  the  invisible,  eternal  world, 
which  he  was  soon  to  enter  ?  Who  can  tell  of  the  world  of 
thought  ?  Is  it  not  God's  history  written  in  imperishable 
characters,  to  be  read  in  the  day  when  the  secrets  of  all 
hearts  shall  be  made  manifest  ? 

I  often  noticed  his  aspect,  but  oh  1  with  what  strange, 
heedless  unconcern  1  giving  to  the  workings  of  his  mind 
but  a  momentary  thought. 

He  was  taken  ill  in  the  evening,  while  assisting  our 
father  iu  some  preparations  for  the  early  morning's  work. 
The  agonized  expression  of  his  face  was  noticed  by  us,  for 
he  did  not  complain.  The  remedies  applied  afforded  him 
but  a  partial  relief.  He  grew  worse,  and  died  after  a  few 
days'  suffering.  Peacefully  he  passed  away,  for  death  met 


112 

him  in  a  gentle  sleep.  Hester  and  I  were  sent  for,  from 
school,  a  few  hours  before  he  died  ;  but  the  sands  of  life 
were  feebly  running,  he  scarcely  knew  us.  Two  or  three 
physicians  attended  him,  but  his  disease  baffled  their  skill. 
Oh  !  how  we  mourned  him  !  As  we  had  felt  a  peculiar 
tenderness  for  him  while  living,  so  our  sorrow  took  a  depth 
of  gloom  from  the  suddenness  of  his  departure,  still  deeper 
that  we  knew  so  little  the  emotions  of  his  sealed  spirit.  It 
was  a  cloud,  without  anything  on  which  the  smitten  heart 
could  rest  for  relief.  The  winter  was  a  sad  one.  My 
father's  prayers  were  deeply  affecting  and  earnest,  expressed 
much  in  the  words  of  Scriptures,  and  I  remember  being 
much  moved  by  this  passage,  "  Show  us,  0  I  God,  where- 
fore thou  contendest  with  us."  It  was  a  time  of  serious  • 
thought  with  us  all,  and  an  air  of  tenderness  and  solemnity 
pervaded  the  house. 

Mary,  in  the  ensuing  spring,  made  a  public  profession  of 
religion,  and  Bessya  few  months  later.  Mary  had,  indeed, 
become  the  thoughtful,  earnest  woman  ;  always  obliging,  and 
sweetly  winning  in  her  disposition^  she  now  added  the  lovely 
grace  of  a  self-denying  spirit,  regardful  of  the  happiness  of 
others  ;  instead  of  the  gay,  giddy,  volatile  girl,  there  was 
the  cheerful,  refined,  loving  woman.  Her  sprightly  conver- 
sation, and  the  animated  play  of  her  features,  betokened 
her  vivacity,  and  had  singular  power  to  entertain  and 
charm. 

The  time  was  drawing  near,  when  she  was  to  leave  her 
father's  home,  to  accompany  the  husband  of  her  choice  to 
the  distant  province  of  Maine,  then  newly  and  sparsely 


ALGEK MAKY.  113 

settled,  regarded  as  an  inhospitable  clime,  and  an  almost 
savage  land. 

It  was,  in  fact,  an  unknown,  untamed  wilderness,  except 
on  the  sea-coast,  and  along  the  borders  of  the  rivers. 

Dr.  Emery's  letters  announced  his  satisfaction  in  the 
prospect  opening  before  him — his  wish  to  remain,  and  his 
speedy  return  to  claim  his  promised  bride. 

Now  was  coming  the  first  change  in  my  hitherto  monoto- 
nous life  ;  for,  save  the  two  years  of  my  childhood  spent  in 
Atherton,  my  knowledge  and  experience,  if  not  my 
thoughts,  had  been  bounded  by  the  neighborhood  of  my 
father's  cottage.  Mary  wished  me  to  accompany  her  to  her 
far-off  home,  and  the  idea  was  most  delightful  to  me.  My 
father  gave  consent,  and  preparations  for  our  departure  in 
the  early  autumn,  went  on  with  great  alacrity.  It  was 
arranged  that  I  should  go  to  Boston  for  a  visit  of  several 
weeks,  where  Mary  and  her  husband  should  join  me,  when 
ready  to  set  sail.  I  was  at  this  time  just  sixteen,  and  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  one  of  that  age  more  unsophisti- 
cated in  the  ways  of  the  world — more  childlike  in  ignorance 
and  simplicity, — more  entirely  uninitiated  in  all  the  numerous 
little  arts  and  appliances  that  form  the  framework  of 
society.  I  was  excessively  shy,  blushing  at  the  least  thing, 
with  a  painful  consciousness  of  my  own  deficiencies. 

I  had,  too,  a  very  humble  opinion  of  my  own  personal 
attractions,  often  contrasting  the  beauty  of  Grace,  her 
delicate  bloom,  sparkling  eyes,  and  the  light  airy  movements 
of  her  lithe  figure,  with  my  own  less  pleasing  face  and  form, 
for  my  darker  complexion  and  vivid  color  lacked  delicacy, 


114 

and  I  was  far  too  timid  to  be  at  ease  in  the  presence  of 
strangers.  Bessy  and  Grace  were  taller  than  Mary  and  I  ; 
and  Grace,  so  round  and  straight,  was  elegantly  formed. 
We  were  all,  indeed,  sufficiently  straight,  thanks  to  an  early 
acquaintance  with  the  spinning-wheel.  The  blooming  girls 
of  that  period  possessed  the  expanded  chest,  the  well-deve- 
loped bust,  the  firm  springing  step,  which  belong  to  this 
healthiest  and  most  graceful  of  all  indoor  employments — an 
elasticy  of  motion  which  dancing-masters  sigh  in  vain  to 
reach. 

The  handsome  forms,  as  well  as  firmer  health,  and  longer 
lives  of  the  women  of  that  day,  compared  with  the  bent 
shoulders,  and  stooping  gait  of  their  more  feeble  daughters, 
are  matters  of  general  observation,  nor  need  we  seek  far  for 
the  cause. 


THE   JOURNEY    AND   VISIT   TO   BOSTON.  115 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE   JOURNEY    AND   VISIT   TO    BOSTON. 

«  Ob,  recall 

Those  past  delicious  hours, 
Which  made  me  happy  as  a  bird 
ID  its  sweet  home  of  flowers." 

I  WENT  to  Boston  in  company  with  Major  Huntley,  of 
Atherton,  brother  to  ray  stepmother,  who  was  also  of  the 
party.  We  rode  in  Major  Huutley's  chaise,  a  new,  and  at 
that  time  quite  a  grand  conveyance.  Vain  would  be  the 
attempt  to  picture  the  pleasure  this  visit  afforded  me ; 
retired  as  my  life  had  been,  the  most  trivial  things  had 
power  to  charm  ;  my  senses  were  alive  to  all  impressions, 
for  every  object  wore  the  gloss  and  fascinating  garb  of 
novelty.  This  period  was  painted  with  the  gay  coloring  of 
the  dawn  of  existence,  was  invested  with  all  the  bright  hues 
of  a  young,  fresh  imagination,  just  wakened  into  life  by  its 
own  delighted  exercise. 

It  has  ever  been  most  vivid  in'  my  memory,  as  if  graven 
with  a  diamond's  point  on  the  plastic  metal,  while  whole 
long  years  of  dull,  weary  existence,  have  vanished  like  the 
light  tracing  upon  the  sand,  washed  away  by  the  next 
returning  tide. 

The  journey  itself  was  most  delightful  ;  it  was  in  the 
loveliness  of  early  summer  ;  pleasure  was  written  on  the 
fair  earth,  and  still  fairer  sky,  and  bright  hopes  and  flatter* 


116 

ing  anticipations  of  new  scenes  soon  brushed  away  the  lin- 
gering sadness  of  leaving  home.  Major  Huntley  was  a 
most  amusing  companion,  full  of  jokes  and  comical  observa- 
tions. Mother  was  in  the  gayest  spirits,  and  returned  joke 
for  joke. 

We  stopped  the  first  night  at  Marlborough,  setting  off 
again  the  next  morning  with  the  early  dawn,  to  gain  betimes 
a  march  upon  the  noonday  sun.  Beauty  and  fragrance  were 
all  around  ;  sparkling  dews,  and  the  sweet  warbling  of  bird- 
voices  filled  the  morning  air. 

As  the  day  slowly  waned,  my  two  companions  being 
chiefly  engaged  with  each  other,  I  sat  forward,  watching  the 
ever-changing  landscape,  arrayed  in  summer  verdure  and 
luxuriance.  Many  lovely  spots  have  my  eyes  looked  on, 
since  that  glowing  spring  of  my  youth,  but  on  none  more 
charming  than  was  that  succession  of  green  woods,  smiling 
villages,  and  waving  fields  ;  the  shifting  forms  and  hues  of 
the  silvery  clouds,  and  the  fast  flitting  shadows  from  hill  to 
plain,  from  the  glancing  river  to  the  deep,  dark  woods.  A 
moving  panorama  of  ever-changing  beauties.  We  rode 
slowly  that  blissful  afternoon,  for  the  horse  had  travelled  a 
a  long  and  weary  way. 

About  the  time  the  sun  was  setting,  we  neared  the  place 
of  our  destination.  This  was  in  Dorchester,  the  home  of 
two  sisters  of  old  Madam  Huntley,  and  aunts  of  my  step- 
mother. They  were  elderly  maiden  ladies,  quite  rich,  living 
in  a  great,  old-fashioned  farm-house  near  the  beach. 

I  had  heard  much  of  these  rich,  eccentric,  old  Aunt 
Pettys  ;  they  had  occasionally  sent  to  mother  some  articles 


THE   JOURNEY   AND   VISIT   TO   BOSTON.  117 

of  apparel,  from  their  well-preserved  and  ample  store  ;  a 
scarlet,  hooded  mantle,  and  a  large-figured,  bright-colored 
brocade  cloak,  of  the  oddest  and  most  ancient  style,  were 
among  the  treasures  laid  up  in  mother's  chests,  presented 
by  these  precise  maidens.  The  mantle,  mother  persisted  iu 
wearing  to  church,  to  our  grief,  for  its  oddity  excited  both 
observation  and  ridicule. 

I  had  heard  of  drawers  and  chests  full  of  gay-colored, 
grotesque  attire,  kept  for  years,  and  all  made  in  the  same 
antiquated  fashion,  for  they  would  have  nothing  new  or 
modern.  The  house  and  all  its  appurtenances  were  as 
quaint,  odd,  and  old-fashioned  as  themselves,  though  not 
without  an  air  of  stiff  and  stately  grandeur,  in  the  square 
roof  and  carved  wooden  shutters. 

We  rode  up  to  the  door  under  the  shade  of  an  old  elm 
tree,  that  threw  its  shade  almost  all  over  the  venerable  man- 
sion. Presently  a  large,  good-natured  looking  old  lady 
came  out  to  the  gate,  the  bright  red  ribbons  fluttering  on 
her  cap,  as  she  screamed  out  a  welcome  ;  while  a  little, 
prim,  sharp,  black-eyed  person  appeared  in  sight  a  moment, 
then  vanished,  and  we  heard  her  shrill  voice  calling  "  Ru- 
pert 1  Rupert  !"  and  he,  too,  of  childhood  memory,  soon 
came  forward,  and  after  greeting  his  mother  and  uncle,  led 
away  the  horse. 

We  were  conducted  to  the  family  "  keeping-room,"  and 
seating  myself  on  the  broad  stool  of  an  open  window,  I 
looked  around  me  almost  bewildered,  and  quite  unheeded, 
while  mutual  inquiries  and  congratulations  passed  between 
the  older  persons. 


118  HOME. 

The  window  in  which  I  sat  looked  out  upon  a  large  yard, 
in  the  rear  of  the  house,  stocked  with  a  variety  of  domestic 
animals  ;  at  the  furthest  corner,  a  cow  stood  peacefully 
chewing  her  cud  under  a  tree.  Rupert  turned  our  weary 
horse,  now  freed  from  his  harness,  into  the  enclosure,  where 
he  testified  his  delight  in  the  green  grass,  by  rolling  him- 
self over  and  over  on  the  dewy  carpet. 

Within  all  was  strange ;  the  great  clock  in  the  corner 
extended  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  room,  carved  in 
a  curious  device  ;  the  fireplace  was  filled. with  fragrant 
branches,  gay  blossoms,  and  boughs  of  asparagus,  with  its 
brilliant  red  berries,  and  decorated  above  with  some  pic- 
tures of  scripture  scenes.  On  either  side  were  two  large 
painted  fire-screens,  which,  no  doubt,  had  faithfully  served 
for  many  long  years  to  protect  the  fair  maiden  faces 
of  the  sisters  from  the  too  ardent  .gaze  of  their  winter's 
fire. 

My  observations  were  stopped  by  the  entrance  of  Rupert, 
now  a  dashing  young  man  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  looking 
bold  and  assured,  like"  the  same  lad  in  former  years.  He 
came  up  to  me,  saying, 

"  Ah,  ha  !  I  wish  you  a  very  good  evening  !  How  are 
you  ?  As  demure  as  ever  ?  Just  from  the  upper  regions, 
eh  ?  How  goes  it  up  in  the  bush  ?" 

I  could  have  little  to  say  in  reply,  and  that  coldly,  for  I 
was  both  abashed  and  displeased  by  his  free  manners  and 
confident  tone.  Just  then  I  was  requested  to  assist  the 
maid  in  taking  our  things  up  stairs,  and  my  mother,  with 
characteristic  thoughtlessness,  added — 


THE   JOURNEY   AND   VISIT   TO   BOSTON.  119 

"  See  that  you  don't  meddle  with  anything,  nor  stop  to 
look  round,  as  if  you  never  saw  anything  before." 

This  address,  than  which  nothing  could  have  been  more 
uncalled  for,  made  my  cheeks  burn  with  mortification.  In 
fact,  I  had  rather  an  uncomfortable  time  during  my 
stay  there,  for  I  felt  little  claim  on  their  hospitality,  and 
Rupert's  free,  half  mocking  air.  both  embarrassed  and  vexed 
me  ;  but,  fortunately,  he  was  not  present  much  of  the  time, 
and  I  was  greatly  amused  with  all  I  saw.  The  antiquated 
tea  service  at  supper,  with  china  of  the  oddest  device,  the 
high-backed,  stuffed  chairs,  too,  covered  with  black  leather, 
and  the  round,  carved  table,  so  dark  and  polished  ;  and  I 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing  outright  at  the  queer, 
almost  grotesque,  attire  of  the  mistresses  of  the  domain. 
These  sisters  formed  a  perfect  contrast  to  each  other  in 
looks  and  air,  and  even  in  dress,  though  both  equally  singu- 
lar ;  continually  interrupting  each  other  with,  "  La  !  sister, 
why  do  you  say  so  ?" 

The  darkened  rooms  seemed  to  make  fearful,  unwonted 
echoes,  as  we  made  the  circuit  of  the  house  the  next  day, 
mother  being  curious  to  see  it ;  and,  indeed,  she  looked 
with  wistful  eyes  at  the  great,  olfl  chests  of  drawers,  which 
she  doubtless  conjectured  might  contain  much  store  of 
coveted  household  gear,  about  which,  however,  her  curi- 
osity was  not  gratified.  The  old  trees  about  the  house 
waved  in  the  wind  to  a  stately,  formal  measure,  and  a  large 
flock  of  geese  stalked  majestically  about,  as  if  conscious  to 
whom  they  belonged,  while  ducks,  hens,  and  flitting  doves, 
all  seemed  to  smack  of  the  olden  time.  These  ladies  lived 


120  HOME. 

apart  from  society,  seldom  going  abroad,  except  occasion- 
ally into  Boston  to  church  on  the  Sabbath.  They  had  one 
friend,  a  sort  of  connection,  a  widow  lady,  living  not  far  off. 
Patty,  the  maid,  was  dispatched  to  iavite  her  to  come  and 
spend  the  day  in  honor  of  their  visitors.  Major  Huntley  was 
a  favored  guest,  everything  he  did  or  said,  delighted  them  ; 
he  had  a  lively,  witty  vein  in  conversation,  and  kept  the 
good  ladies  in  excellent  spirits.  The  lady  guest  was  arrayed 
in  stiff  brocade,  with  three  broad,  white  ruffles  round  the 
neck,  extending  to  the  waist  in  front,  while  the  cap  looked 
almost  ponderous,  with  its  weight  of  frills  and  ribbons. 
Briskly  the  talk  went  on,  between  these  ladies  and  my 
mother,  and  when  Major  Huntley  was  present  he  kept  them 
laughing,  shaking  themselves  in  the  best  of  humor,  and  say- 
ing— "  La,  me  1  what  a  man  !" 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  family  vehicle,  a  sort 
of  small  open  coach,  was  brought  out,  and  furbished  up,  to 
go  into  Boston  to  church.  As  there  was  not  room  for  me, 
something  was  said  about  Rupert's  taking  Major  Huntley'a 
chaise,  but  he  did  not  seem  particularly  to  desire  it,  and 
•othing  would  have  been  less  pleasing  to  me  than  a  ride 
into  Boston,  delightful  as  it  might  have  been  in  itself,  under 
Rupert's  protection.  No  doubt,  in  bis  estimation,  my  dress 
and  appearance  lacked  the  elegance  and  fashion  of  the  city, 
and  would,  he  thought,  do  him  little  credit.  As  it  was,  I 
expressed  a  desire  to  stay  behind,  and  the  vehicle  set  off 
without  me,  Rupert  on  horseback  by  its  side. 

I  had  just  seated  myself  in  the  vacant  room,  for  a  little 
quiet  reading,  when  a  slight  figure  came  gently  and  swiftly 


THE   JOUBNEY    AND   VISIT   TO   BOSTON.  121 

to  me,  just  glancing  over  my  shoulder  at  the  book  I  was 
reading,  then  brushed  past  me  and  lightly  dropped  into  a 
chair.  I  was  startled,  and  gazed  at  my  visitor  with  a 
mixture  'of  curiosity  and  pity,  though  at  no  loss  to  divine 
who  she  was.  I  had  been  told  her  story,  and  it  interested 
me  greatly.  She  was  a  relative  of  Aunt  Petty's,  who  had 
been  insane  from  early  youth,  and  had  with  kindly  care 
been  cherished  by  these  good  sisters  since  the  death  of  her 
parents,  a  period  of  fifteen  or  twenty  years.  She  was  per- 
fectly harmless,  and  generally  very  quiet,  going  all  over  the 
house  %nd  amusing  herself  as  fancy  dictated. 

She  had  been  the  child  of  wealth  and  distinction,  emi- 
nently beautiful  and  accomplished,  and  was  still  fair  and 
child-like  in  appearance,  her  brow  clear,  and  innocent- 
looking,  though  her  long  silken  hair  was  slightly  silvered. 
Her  air  was  so  sweet  and  gentle,  that  nothing  betokened 
her  mental  malady,  save  a  restless  glitter  in  her  light  blue 
eye,  and  her  extreme  liveliness  of  manner,  which  never 
varied,  except  when  she  was  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  and  kept 
her  bed.  This  had  been  the  case  since  our  arrival ;  so  that 
I  had  not  seen  her  till  she  appeared  so  suddenly  before  me. 
Apparently  struck  with  my  surprise,  she  began  an  apology, 
saying,  in  a  soft,  gentle  voice,  "  I  fear  I  have  interrupted 
your  reading  ;  pray  go  on ;  let  me  not  disturb  you  ;  may  I 
inquire  what  book  engages  your  attention  ?" 

I  showed  her  that  it  was  the  Bible,  and  smilingly  asked 
if  I  should  read  to  her. 

"Oh,  thank  yoal"   said   she;   "nothing  would  be  so 
delightful  1"    Then,  without  waiting  for  me  to  begin,  quick 
6 


122  HOME. 

as  thought,  she  took  from  the  table  a  volume  of  poems,  and 
read  herself,  without  raising  her  eyes,  several  pages,  in  a 
clear,  melodious  tone,  giving  the  accent  and  expression 
admirably.  "  Is  it  not  exquisite  ?"  said  she,  looking  up  at 
me  with  a  bright  smile.  I  expressed  my  admiration,  and 
commended  her  reading.  She  inclined  her  head  with  much 
grace,  saying,  "  I  am  more  happy  to  please  you.  Madam 
Sontelle  taught  me  poetry;  did  you  ever  learn  of  Madam 
Sontelle  ?  Did  you  attend  her  school  ?"  repeated  she. 
Without  giving  me  time  to  reply,  she  turned  to  me  with  the 
most  affectionate  manner,  and  commenced  speaking  rtpidly, 
her  mind  probably  reverting  to  her  school-girl  days  and  to 
her  instructress.  "  My  dear  young  friend,"  she  began, 
"  nothing  so  infallibly  distinguishes  the  accomplished  young 
lady  as  true  gentleness  ;  but  gentleness  is  not  the  air  of 
soft  languishment  that  some  young  ladies  affect,  nor  the 
simpering  prettiness  worn  like  the  best  dress,  an  ornament 
in  company;  such  are  mere  coverings  to  conceal  pride,  and 
ill  temper.  Gentleness,  my  dear  girl,  has  her  seat  in  the 
heart,  and  is  ever  attended  by  her  sweet  sister,  Humility, 
the  lowly  and  graceful  handmaid  of  all  the  benign  virtues." 
This  she  said  with  inimitable  grace  and  dignity ;  but, 
abruptly  stopping,  she  seemed  to  make  au  effort  to  recollect 
herself,  and  sat  awhile  gazing  vacantly  at  me  ;  then  rising, 
she  tripped  along,  seized  my  hand,  and  said,  "  Permit  me  to 
lead  you  to  the  music  room." 

I  had  before  noticed  a  large  old  harpsichord  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  and  went  with  her,  greatly  interested  and 
amused.  She  began,  lightly  sweeping  the  keys  ;  bat  wak- 


THE   JOURNEY   AND   VISIT   TO   BOSTON.  123 

ing  the  slumbering  echoes  of  the  past,  old  scenes  and  asso- 
ciations, she  became  more  and  more  excited,  the  expression 
of  her  face  grew  rapt  and  intense,  her  thin  fingers  flew 
faster  and  faster  over  the  instrument,  till,  completely 
exhausted  by  her  own  emotion,  she  drooped  her  head, 
touched  a  few  plaintive  notes,  and  commenced  softly  and 
sadly,  by  singing  that  beautiful  ballad  of  Goldsmith,  "  Turn 
gentle  hermit  of  the  dale,"  &c. ;  but  her  voice  sunk  in  sobs, 
and  she  fell  into  a  violent  fit  of  weeping.  I  was  distressed, 
and^  tried  to  comfort  her,  though  I  could  myself  scarcely 
refrain  from  tears.  She  permitted  me  to  lead  her  away, 
and  seek  Patty,  the  kind  maid.  The  good  girl  came  up 
and  put  her  arms  round  her,  saying,  "  You  dear  lamb  ! 
don't  you  cry  so  1  poor  dear  thing  1  she's  worked  herself 
up  till  she's  ready  to  drop,  she's  so  tired."  So  the  affec- 
tionate girl  coaxed  and  comforted  her,  as  one  would  a 
weary  child,  till,  unresisting,  she  was  led  to  her  room,  and 
was  soon  iu  a  peaceful  sleep.  I  did  not  see  her  again,  for 
we  left  the  next  day,  and  she  was  usually  kept  much  from 
visitors,  on  account  of  her  excitability,  and  consequent 
exhaustion.  This  incident  affe9ted  me  much.  Poor  Susy 
Loring  !  How  sad  the  spectacle  of  that  unhinged-  and 
crushed  intellect !  How  mysterious  the  workings  of  that 
crazed  but  gentle  spirit,  groping  round  the  walls  of  its  ten- 
ement, searching  the  haunted  cells  of  memory  iu  the  mock- 
ery of  vain  endeavor,  yet  ever  true  to  the  impulse  of  her 
affectionate  heart.  She  was  always  sweet-tempered  and 
patient,  even  in  her  greatest  sorrow.  The  image  of  this 
poor  demented  being  was  deeply  impressed  on  my  memory, 


124:  HOME. 

and  her  sweet,  suffering  face  haunted  me  long  afterwards. 
I  thought  of  her  happy  and  favored  youth,  htr  bright 
hopes,  and  of  the  rude  blow  that  had  bruised  and  blighted 
her  affections,  jarring  upon  her  finely-tuned  soul,  till  for 
long  years  it  had  been  like  a  harp  with  broken  springs. 
Many  years  are  gone  since  she  passed  to  her  long  resting- 
place,  but  the  sad  and  tender  recollection  of  her  rises  to  my 
mind  fresh  as  if  of  yesterday. 

I  have  dwelt  long  on  the  scenes  of  these  few  days,  for 
a  vivid  picture  of  them  is  painted  on  my  memory,  and  I 
love  to  recall  their  events. 

A  word  about  Rupert.  He  had  been  taken  by  these 
kind,  though  somewhat  penurious  old  aunts,  when  quite 
small ;  he  was  then  a  bright,  witty  little  fellow,  was  petted 
and  caressed  by  them,  and  would  doubtless  have  succeeded 
to  their  well  kept  possessions,  had  not  his  own  conduct 
turned  aside  their  intentions. 

It  must  be  allowed  that  they  were  not  free  from  blame, 
in  their  capricious  management  of  him ;  being  sometimes 
severe  and  rigorous,  then  facile,  and  indulgent  to  every 
whim. 

Aunt  Grizzel,  good-natured,  and  averse  to  noise  or  exer- 
tion, was  too  easy,  unless  thoroughly  aroused  by  some 
heinous  offence,  when  she  employed  the  greatest  severity; 
while  Aunt  Lois,  the  younger,  was  quick-tempered,  queru- 
lous, and  irritable,  but  easily  cajoled  by  his  playfulness,  and 
sure  to  take  his  part,  when  he  fell  under  the  an^er  of  her 
sister. 

Thus,  by  extreme  indulgence  in  one,  and  alternate  pet- 


THE   JOURNEY   AND   VISIT   TO   BOSTON.  125 

tishness  in  the  other,  he  had  grown  up  from  a  pert,  witty 
boy  to  a  self-willed,  overbearing  youth,  undutiful,  and  even 
insolent,  to  those  kind  women  to  whom  he  was  so  much 
indebted.  He  became,  at  length,  the  grief  and  torment  of 
their  lives,  until  at  last  they  cast  him  off,  with  a  small  gra- 
tuity. 

He  afterwards  married,  but,  by  idleness,  reduced  his  wife 
to  poverty,  aod  was  finally  compelled  to  learn  a  trade. 
After  this  he  lived  comfortably,  though  still  poor,  in  an 
obscure  house,  near  the  worthy  relatives  whose  kindness  he 
had  so  abus«d,  and  whose  favor  he  had  lost. 


126  HOME. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

BOSTON   AS   IT   WAS. 
"  Come,  let  us  paint  a  picture  of  the  past,  for  the  eye  of  the  future." 

IT  was  towards  the  last  of  July,  that  I  found  myself,  for 
the  first  time,  in  the  New  World  of  a  gay  metropolis,  at 
the  house  of  my  Uncle  Hastings.  All  here  was  in  perfect 
contrast  to  the  singular  domicile  of  Aunt  Petty 's,  yet 
equally  new  and  strange  to  me.  I  coald  scarcely  act 
myself  at  first,  and  was  covered  with  confusion,  when  Uncle 
Hastings,  with  the  most  formal  politeness,  as  was  his  wont, 
entered  into  grave  conversation  with  me — a  simple  little 
country  girl,  with  hardly  courage  to  say  a  word.  I  believe 
my  blushing,  shame-faced  timidity,  must  have  appeared  very 
foolish  to  him. 

Aunt  Hastings,  as  ever,  was  full  of  grace  and  loveliness, 
with  much  too  in  her  air  that  was  noble  and  commanding. 
Cousin  Bessy,  six  years  my  senior,  undertook  in  due  form 
my  guardianship,  and  kindly  and  faithfully  did  she  perform 
her  task. 

In  acquaintance  with  books,  I  was  not  at  all  inferior  to 
my  cousin,  for  reading  had  always  been  my  delight,  and, 
thanks  to  the  press  of  that  age  and  my  father's  care,  it  had 
been  tolerably  well  selected.  My  father  had  much  relish  for 
books,  and  so  good  was  his  memory,  that  he  would  repeat 


BOSTON    AS    IT    WAS.  127 

long  passages  from  his  favorite  authors.  Many  such  from 
Milton  and  Pope  are  familiar  to  me  now,  forcibly  recalling 
my  dear  parent  to  memory.  My  cousin — pretty  and  lively 
as  she  was,  and  engaging  in  her  manners,  lived  within  the 
polished  but  narrow  circle,  that  too  often  bounds  the  city 
life  of  ytung  ladies  of  genteel  income  ;  a  round  of  calls, 
visits,  and  promenades,  in  which  a  surprising  variety  of 
agreeable  nothings  are  said  ;  embroidery,  with  its  never- 
failing  excitement  of  new  patterns,  and  the  daily  news>  well 
conned  and  commented  upon,  fill  up  the  intervals. 

Thus  the  shining  small  coin  of  conversation  passes  briskly 
from  smiling  lips,  with  many  pretty  airs  ;  while  the  golden 
eagles  gained  by  reading  and  reflection  are  almost  wholly 
wanting,  being  esteemed  quite  too  weighty  for  the  cheerful, 
vivacious  minds  of  young  persons  engrossed  with  passing 
trifles. 

Solid  reading,  while  it  furnishes  the  mind,  and  gives 
higher  range  to  the  thoughts,  by  no  means  helps  one  to  the 
use  of  that  "  pretty  little  small  talk  "  which  haff  so  large  a 
share  in  the  common  intercourse  of  acquaintances.  While 
I  was  surprised  that  no  one  cared  to  read,  or  apparently 
to  extend  a  thought  beyond  the  ordinary  occurrences  of  the 
day,  I  was  myself,  quite  heedless  of  the  various  minute 
observances  of  time  and  place,  the  thousand  little  decencies 
that  make  up  the  "comnie  il  faut"  in  decorum  and  outward 
propriety,  and  doubtless  committed  many  unconscious 
blunders  ;  my  recollection  assures  me  of  several  occasions 
in  which  a  hint  was  given,  making  my  cheeks  mantle  with 
blushes  for  my  ignorance.  I  knew  not  whether  my  dress 


128  HOME. 

was  fitting  or  otherwise ;  I  thought  little  about  it. 
Cousin  Bessy,  indeed,  took  unwearied  pains  to  aid  my  inex- 
perience in  my  little  purchases,  and  once,  when  we  were 
going  out  shopping,  as  I  waited  a  moment  at  the  hall-door 
for  my  cousin,  Aunt  Hastings  came  along  in  her  smiling, 
graceful  way,  and  slipped  a  bank-note  into  my  hand,  with  a 
word  or  two  playfully  spoken,  and  away  again,  almost 
before  I  was  aware  of  what  she  had  done. 

"Uncle  Hastings'  house  was  about  a  mile  from  "  the 
Neck,"  which  space  was  by  no  means  thickly  settled,  while 
the  Neck  itself  was  simply  a  narrow  road,  or  sandy  beach, 
on  either  hand  almost  covered  with  salt  water  at  every  high 
tide.  Towards  the  Common,  too,  there  was  a  large  open 
space,  even  before  reaching  the  old  burying  ground,  now 
forming  part  of  its  boundary.  This  spot  had  been  anciently 
the  enclosure  of  the  church,  long  since  passed  with  its 
worshippers  into  oblivion  and  forgetfulness.  Here,  old 
Governor  Dudley,  one  of  the  crown-appointed  rulers  of  the 
colony  in  primitive  times,  had  been  buried  ;  and  the  spot 
where  his  bones  reposed,  was  pointed  out  to  me  with  much 
reverence  by  Cousin  Bessy,  for  he  was  one  of  her  paternal 
ancestors.  An  old  monument  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Common  interested  me  very  much  ;  it  recorded  the  deeds  of 
our  fathers,  and  particularly  of  Washington  ;  it  has  now 
decayed,  or  given  place  to  other  memorials. 

The  Mall  was  planted  with  trees,  and  was  already  a 
favorite  resort  on  fine  days  ;  a  walk  then  answered  the 
purpose  subserved  in  our  day,  by  the  genteel  and  formal 
"  call."  The  young  and  gay  went  thither  to  while  away 


BOSTON   AS   IT  WAS.  129 

the  time  in  pleasant  converse ;.  the  fashionable  belles  flaunted 
along  with  their  lap-dogs,  their  trains  gracefully  sweeping 
the  ground  a  yard  or- two  behind,  or  negligently  thrown 
over  the  arm,  in  rare  instances  confided  to  the  custody  of  a 
little  colored  boy,  who  thus  helped  his  aristocratic  mistress 
bear  the  burden  of  her  finery.  Ladies  of  less  pretentious 
had  the  more  moderate  length  of  their  trains  fastened  up  to 
the  waist.  Most  amusing  and  delightful  to  me,  was  this 
promenade,  the  daily  recreation  of  all  young  people  who 
made  any  attempt  at  fashion  and  gentility.  The  well- 
trodden  walks  are  still  pressed  by  the  feet  of  morning  and 
evening  visitors  ;  grave  men  pace  thoughtfully,  or  sit  medi- 
tating in  the  shade  of  those  old,  old  trees,  with  the  hum  of 
a  mighty  city  around  them.  Stately  matrons  enjoy  the 
fresh  breeze  in  the  sultry  days,  and  bounding  children  too, 
are  there,  while  young  men  and  maidens  still  walk  arm  in 
arm  beneath  the  whispering  leaves.  But  in  that  olden  time 
all  was  free  and  joyous  life  and  animation,  when  the  flippant 
jest,  the  light  laugh,  and  gay  flirtation  ruled  the  hour, 
while  the  trees  were  yet  young,  and  amid  their  branches 
opened  many  a  passage  to  the  bright  sunshine. 

The  big  "  old  elm,"  indeed,  was  there,  even  then  looking 
almost  as  venerable  as  now,  but,  instead  of  the  little  pond, 
with  its  sparkling  fountain,  was  only  a  low,  marshy  spot, 
which,  with  the  flow  and  ebb  of  the  tide  formed  alternately 
a  deep  pool,  and  a  muddy  hollow.  The  whole  common  was 
a  green  pasture  ;  while  Beacon  street,  now  so  thickly  stud- 
ded with  its  elegant  mansions,  was  then,  for  the  most  part, 
a  rough,  unsightly  hill,  disfigured  by  rocks  and  sandy  knolls ; 
6* 


130  HOME. 

toward  the  Common,  however,  it  was  levelled,  and  the  State 
House  was  alreadj  erected,  and  in  process  of  completion. 

We  sauntered  over  the  ground  many  times,  and  with  ever 
fresh  delight  to  me,  lingering  on  the  western  slope,  in  the 
delicious  summer  afternoon,  to  gaze  on  the  beautiful  country 
across  the  calm  water,  or  watch  the  sun  go  dowm  into  the 
sea,  like  a  monarch  descending  to  rest. 

Rarely,  indeed,  could  a  finer  prospect  be  found  than  was 
there  seen,  of  the  fair  young  city  seated  as  a  queen  upon 
the  water — environed  by  the  fine  open  expanse,  adorned 
with  wood-embosomed  dwellings  and  glittering  spires. 

The  funeral  of  Samuel  Adams  took  place  ,soon  after  my 
arrival,  but  none  of  the  family  attended,  Uncle  Hastings 
being  rigidly  opposed  to  the  federalist  party.  As  it  was 
to  be  quite  an  imposing  spectacle,  Aunt  Hastings  wished 
•me  to  go  ;  so,  giving  me  many  careful  directions,  she  sent  her 
maid  to  attend  me.  Securing  a  station  on  the  steps  of  the 
State  House,  I  saw  the  march  of  the  long  procession  of 
sable  carriages,  drawn  by  black  horses.  Slowly,  and  with 
steady  tramp,  they  advanced  to  the  old  monument,  then, 
making  a  circuit,  the  Dead  March  commenced,  with  muffled 
drums.  This,  heard  for  the  first  time,  powerfully  affected 
me  ;  tears  ran  fast,  and  long  after  they  had  all  passed  by, 
I  stood,  indulging  the  thrilling  sensations  awakened  by  the 
scene. 

Soon  after  this,  Aunt  Hastings  received  a  visit  from  a 
relative  and  old  friend  of  my  own  mother,  who  lived  at  Ja- 
maica Pfains.  The  beautiful  spot  now  recognized  by  this 
name,  had  at  that  time  a  far  different  appearance  from  what 


BOSTON    AS   IT    WAS.  131 

it  DOW  presents,  being  occupied  by  newly  cultivated  farms, 
except  on  the  border  of  the  fine  pond,  which  began  already 
to  be  a  favorite  summer  resort  for  pleasure  parties. 

This  relative,  usually  called  Aunt  Brooks,  was  a  large, 
good-looking  lady,  very  easy-tempered,  and  extremely  fond 
of  reading  ;  for  a  new  book  or  magazine  she  would  neglect 
even  pressing  engagements  and  necessary  duties.  Bessy 
and  I  being  seated  at  the  window,  saw  her,  through  the 
blind,  approaching  the  house,  and  Bessy  telling  her  mother, 
Aunt  Hastings  hurriedly  said,  "Put  away  those  papers, 
then,  quick  ;  for  I  want  to  enjoy  her  company  a  little,  this 
time  ;"  which  Bessy  hastened  to  accomplish  before  she  en- 
tered. She  was  carelessly  attired,  but  her  face  !  how  lumi- 
nous it  was  with  the  expression  not  only  of  intelligence,  but 
of  a  certain  large-heartedness,  which  was  indeed  a  part  of 
her  character. 

She  regarded  me  with  much  interest  and  kindness,  for  the 
sake  of  my  lost  mother,  whom,  she  said,  she  had  often  held 
in  her  arms.  On  leaving,  she  urged  me  warmly  to  go  and 
spend  a  week  with  her,  saying  her  son  came  in  to  market 
every  day,  with  produce  from  the  farm,  and  would  call  for 
me  in  the  morning.  I  gladly  absented,  and  sure  enough,  the 
next  forenoon  a  large,  ruddy-faced  man  called  at  the  door, 
with  his  market-wagon,  and  I  was  soon  jolting  along,  feel- 
ing somewhat  queer  with  my  stranger  companion.  He, 
however,  made  himself  quite  sociable,  informing  me  of  the 
names  of  residents  on  the  way,  and  .occasionally  telling  an 
anecdote,  or  describing  the  character  of  some  one  of  them. 

Sometime  after  noon  we  reached  the  plain  old  farm-house, 
very  large,  and  unpainted,  standing  apparently  in  the  mid- 


132  HOME. 

die  of  an  apple  orchard.  Here,  after  a  day  or  two,  I  felt 
myself  quite  at  home.  There  was  a  large  family,  and  the 
farm  seemed  as  productive  as  a  garden,  being  cultivated 
with  a  view  to  supplying  the  city  market.  One  of  the 
daughters,  Milly,  was  about  my  own  age  ;  a  pleasant,  good- 
natured  girl.  She  made  considerable  pretensions,  though  I 
thought  her  rather  coarse,  as  indeed  all  the  family  were,  in 
comparison  with  the  mother,  with  whom  I  was  soon  on 
intimate  footing. 

Though  she  was  so  much  older  and  wiser,  and  I  looked 
up  to  her  with  reverence,  yet  I  found  it  wonderfully  easy  to 
converse  with  her,  and  my  natural  reserve  and  bashfulness 
all  left  me  in  her  presence.  I  enjoyed  my  stay  there  ex- 
tremely. The  situation  of  the  house  and  grounds  was  wild 
and  picturesque,  and  quite  charmed  my  youthful  fancy.  The 
house  was  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  a  ledge  rose  immedi- 
ately behind  it,  so  high  as  to  hide  from  view  all  beyond. 
Trees  were  growing  on  the  top  of  the  rock,  and  their  thick 
branches  almost  came  in  at  the  open  window  of  the  cham- 
ber where  I  slept. 

Every  morning  I  was  awakened  by  the  sweet  carol  of  a 
multitude  of  birds,  in  their  leafy  bowers  close  to  my  head, 
beginning  with  early  dawn,  and  giving  me  exquisite  de- 
light, as  I  lay  entranced,  listening  to  the  charming  notes. 

Accompanied  by  Milly,  or  alone,  I  wandered  over  the 
wooded  knolls  and  rocks.  A  great  part  of  the  farm  was 
solitary  and  wild.  I  gathered  curious  pebbles  and  shells, 
and  stored  them  up,  which  by  chance  coming  to  sight,  long 
years  afterwards,  brought  back  in  all  its  freshness,  to  my 
mind,  this  delightful  visit. 


AN  ADVENTUKE.  133 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

AN  ADVENTURE. 

ONE  afternoon  while  I  was  at  Aunt  Brooks',  Milly 
obtained  the  management  of  old  Grey  Dobbin  with  the 
wagon,  to  take  me  a  ride,  as  she  said,  to  show  me  the 
country.  We  were  full  of  mirth  and  enjoyment,  finding 
amusement  in  everything,  and  rode  long  and  far,  but  where, 
I  have  not  the  least  idea,  except  that  we  stopped,  tied  our 
horse  to  the  remnant  of  a  fence,  and  roamed  over  Bunker 
Hill. 

Milly  told  me  she  had  often  been  here  to  pick  barberries, 
and,  indeed,  the  spot  was  covered  with  tall  grass  and 
bushes,  the  luxuriant  growth  of  the  soil  watered  by  some 
of  the  bravest  blood  of  the  Revolution. 

We  endeavored  to  trace  the  few  indistinct  marks,  the 
uncertain  vestiges  of  the  signal  battle  fought  there  before 
we  were  born.  My  companion,  struck,  as  it  were,  with  a 
sudden  spark  of  patriotism,  assumed  a  tragic  air  of  mock 
heroism,  and  exclaimed,  "  Here  the  precious  blood  of  the 
brave  ran  like  rain  1  Here  their  valiant  heads  were  laid 
low  I  Oh,  how  I  should  admire  to  stay  here  all  night  and 
write  blank  verse  1"  of  which  she  had  about  as  just  an  idea, 
probably,  as  of  the  odes  of  Anacreon  in  Greek  ;  her  words, 
and  the  air  with  which  they  were  spoken,  were  irresistible, 
and  I  burst  out  into  a  hearty  laugh,  seeming  to  her,  no 


134:  HOME. 

douflt,  altogether  devoid  of  fine  sentiment  or  poetic  taste. 
She  seemed  inclined  to  verify  her  words,  for  we  lingered 
until  the  sun  was  set,  and  even  till  the  stars  began  to  take 
their  places  in  the  clear  blue  sky,  and  the  last  plaintive 
notes  of  the  birds  died  away  in  silence. 

Much  as  I  enjoyed  the  loveliness  of  the  scene,  fear  and 
the  sense  of  unprotected  loneliness  began  to  be  stronger, 
and  I  entreated  Milly  to  return.  But  she  assured  me  there 
was  nothing  to  fear  ;  that  she  should  "  admire,"  to  ride 
home  in  the  evening,  and  that  she  meant  to  show  Bill,  her 
brother,  that  she  was  not  afraid  to  drive  old  Dobbin 
anywhere,  for  he  was  always  saying  it  was  not  safe  to 
trust  her.  At  length,  however,  we  were  on  our  homeward 
ride,  as  silent  as  we  had  before  been  lively  and  talkative. 

Milly  was  continually  employed  in  urging  the  slow-paced 
beast  to  greater  speed,  for  I  believe  she  began  to  have 
some  misgivings  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  the  dis- 
tance still  to  be  traversed.  As  for  me,  I  was  tortured  by 
fears  ;  the  way  was  strange  ;  I  had  heard  stories  of  vio- 
lence and  robbery,  and  everything  we  met  made  my  heart 
flutter.  We  were  not  destined  to  reach  home  without 
accident ;  as  we  were  slowly  ascending  a  long  winding  hill, 
then.;  came  suddenly  upon  us  a  man  in  a  gig,  driving  down 
at  f\e  top  of  his  speed  He  was  somewhat  intoxicated, 
and  not  seeing  us  in  the  darkness,  or  too  reckless  to  heed 
any  obstacle,  he  dashed  along  and  struck  our  vehicle  at  full 
tilt.  It  gave  way  with  a  crash,  while  he  drove  on,  and  was 
soon  far  behind  us,  leaving  me  on  the  ground  and  Milly  in 
the  wagon,  holding  fast  to  the  reins.  Our  faithful  steed 


AN   ADVENTURE.  135 

stopped  short,  by  which  means  Milly  was  saved  from  fall- 
ing. We  were  both  uninjured,  and  found  our  way  as  best 
we  could  to  the  house,  which  luckily,  was  not  more  than 
half  a  mile  distant.  The  family  were  somewhat  anxiously 
watching  our  return,  for  it  was  now  quite  late  in  the 
evening.  Poor  Milly,  somewhat  crest-fallen,  told  her  mis- 
hap, and  bore  as  patiently  as  she  was  able,  her  brother's 
ireful  reproaches. 

"  Strange,  what  silly  critters  girls  are  !"  said  he.  "  They 
never  know  how  to  act ;  for  ever  trying  to  do  something 
they  can't.  I  knew  there'd  be  some  difficulty,  sure  as  they 
went  on  such  a  rigmarole  errand  !" 

I  stole  away  in  the  midst  of  the  noise  and  talking,  and  as 
I  was  going  up  to  my  room,  thoroughly  tired  and  much 
troubled  at  the  dolorous  issue  of  our  excursion,  I  heard 
Aunt  Brooks,  iu  her  placid  manner,  trying  to  make  all 
smooth. 

"  It's  no  great  harm  done,  after  all,  since  the  girls  are 
not  hurt  ;  only  to  think  of  their  meeting  Tom  Sikes,  when 
he  was  so  drunk.  I  don't  see  as  they  could  have  done 
anything,  so  say  no  more  about  it ;  come  cheer  np  Milly,  it 
might  have  been  a  great  deal  worse." 

So  Bill  went  to  take  care  of  the  horse  and  the  broken 
wagon,  and  the  good  motherly  woman  mixed  a  cordial  for 
us  "  to  settle  our  heads  and  better  our  spirits,"  she  said, 
charging  us  to  think  no  more  about  it,  but  to  go  right  to 
sleep.  This  was  not  easy  for  me  to  do  after  such  excite- 
ment, though  Milly  was  not  disposed  to  talk  much  about 
our  adventure 


136  HOME. 

The  next  morning  I  had  no  sooner  risen  and  gone  down 
stairs,  than  a  sudden  faintness  came  over  me,  and  I  was 
glad  to  be  assisted  back  to  my  room  and  betake  myself  to 
bed.  I  was  soon  restored  by  the  gentle,  kind  nursing  of 
Aunt  Brooks,  and  declared  myself  as  well  as  ever,  but  she 
insisted  on  my  keeping  quiet,  saying  it  was  best  for  me  to 
be  quite  alone  for  a  time,  that  ruffled  spirits  required  the 
rest  and  relief  of  solitude,  and  would  come  out  clear  and 
bright  from  silence  and  calm  ;  so  she  arranged  everything 
for  my  comfort,  and  left  me  reclining  on  my  couch  opposite 
the  open  window.  The  pure  morning  air  came  in,  breathing 
freshness  ;  the  birds  caroled  their  matin  songs,  and  the 
checkered  light  glimmered  through  the  green  branches,  and 
danced  with  the  stirring  of  the  leaves.  The  light  soft 
motion,  hushing  to  rest  every  unquiet  feeling,  tranquilized 
the  soul  and  disposed  to  reflection  ;  at  first,  a  delicious, 
dreamy  sort  of  reverie  came  over  me,  deepening  uncon- 
sciously into  clear,  serene  and  happy  thought.  It  was 
one  of  those  times  common  to  the  experience  of  most,  when 
the  imagination,  sense,  the  whole  conscious  being,  seems 
silently  to  retreat  to  the  inmost  chamber  of  the  spirit. 
How  much  was  sweetly  revolved  in  my  mind  during  those 
few  hours  !  The  agitating  scenes  of  the  preceding  day 
seemed  to  recede  far  into  the  past,  like  some  faded  dream, 
and  the  past  to  stand  out  before  me,  a  vivid  picture  hung 
in  the  memory. 

I  meditated  long  letters  to  my  father  and  sisters  ;  all 
that  had  happened  since  I  left  them  passed  in  review — 
Aunt  Petty's  dwelling  with  their  poor  insane  charge,  hav- 


AN  ADVENTURE.  137 

ing  a  full  share  ;  then  making  a  sudden  transition  to  the 
dim  regions  of  the  shadowy  future,  imaginings  of  all  sorts 
filled  up  the  broad  but  vague  outline  of  my  bounding 
anticipations  and  hopes. 

It  was  a  delightful  day  to  me,  standing  out  even  now 
from  its  fellows  in  peculiar  brightness.  The  afternoon  was 
spent  alone  with  my  kind  and  revered  Aunt  Brooks,  whose 
very  presence  had  power  to  diffuse  around  calm  and  sweet 
tranquillity.  She  read  to  me  from  a  new  magazine,  and 
conversed  entertainingly  upon  it.  The  subject  was  Shakes- 
peare, of  whom  I  had  before  scarcely  heard.  From  her 
remarks  were  derived  my  first  correct  impressions  of  his 
writings  and  wonderful  genius.  I  expressed  surprise,  say- 
ing that  I  had  considered  plays  as  only  written  for  amuse- 
ment, and  at  best,  a  doubtful  kind  of  reading.  In  her 
reply  she  said,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  that  no  other 
writer  had  portrayed  our  sex  with  such  nice  appreciation — 
such  intuitive  sense  of  the  inherent  qualities  of  woman — 
such  exquisite  truth  in  his  portraitures,  to  the  noblest  and 
loveliest  of  her  attributes  ;  and'  that  the  study  of  his  best 
female  characters  could  not  fail  to  have  a  most  refining  and 
ennobling  effect  upon  the  mind  ;  "  at  the  same  time,"  added 
she,  "there  is  so  much  in  these  plays  that  cannot  be 
approved  in  spirit  and  tendency,  that  they  should  be  read 
but  sparingly  by  tlie  young,  and  perhaps  not  at  all,  except 
under  the  eye  of  some  judicious  friend.  I  would  not 
discourage  you,  my  dear,  from  reading  them,"  she  was  so 
kind  as  to  add,  "nay,  I  advise  you  to  embrace  the  first 
opportunity  to  peruse  carefully  some  of  the  best." 


138  HOME. 

I  replied  that  I  should  like  much  to  do  this  under  her 
guidance.  This  conversation  became  afterwards  the  germ 
of  much  pleasure  and  benefit  to  me  when  the  subject  was 
better  understood,  and  her  ideas,  in  a  measure,  realized  in 
my  own  experience.  The  very  next  day,  in  fact,  it  being 
rainy,  I  began  to  act  upon  her  suggestions,  for,  rummaging 
the  shelves  appropriated  to  books,  in  a  cupboard  in  the 
corner  of  the  spacious  "  east  room,"  I  came  across  an  odd 
volume  of  Shakespeare,  to  my  great  delight,  and  spent  most 
of  the  day  absorbed  with  its  contents. 

My  mind  was,  however,  too  scantily  cultured  at  that 
time  to  be  any  more  than  amused,  yet  it  chanced,  oddly 
enough,  that  when,  not  long  after,  I  visited  the  theatre  for 
the  first  and  only  time,  the  identical  play,  with  some  modifi- 
cations, was  represented  which  I  read  that  day. 

The  memory  of  the  benevolent  face  of  Aunt  Brooks  is 
still  before  me,  and  my  visit  to  her  home  was  one  of  the 
greatest  pleasures  I  enjoyed  while  awaiting  the  coming  of 
Mary  and  her  husband. 

This  excellent  and  gifted  lady,  who  appeared  not  to 
belong  to  the  family  or  scenes  around  her,  but  to  live 
among  them  a  different  being,  and  in  another  world — a 
world  of  her  own,  inspired  in  me  love  and  confidence  in  a 
high  degree,  and  I  parted  from  her  with  regret. 


"MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM."  139 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

"MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM." 

AUNT  BROOKS  proposed  herself  to  drive  into  Boston  with 
me  at  the  conclusion  of  my  visit,  but  on  the  day  appointed, 
and  just  as  we  were  ready  to  leave,  her  own  married  daugh- 
ter rode  up  to  the  door,  to  make  a  visit  of  some  days  ;  so  I 
was  obliged  to  take  a  seat  in  the  daily  hack  plying  between 
that  place  and  Boston.  I  was  the  sole  passenger,  and  being 
busy  with  my  own  thoughts,  as  usual,  took  no  heed  where 
I  was  going,  and  had  gone  several  doors  past  the  house, 
when  the  driver  asking  my  destination,  I  told  him,  in  my 
simplicity,  that  he  need  not  be  at  the  trouble  to  go  back. 
He  readily  acceded  to  my  gratuitous  offer.,  and  I  alighted 
in  the  street,  leaving  my  little  bundle  of  clothing  in  the  car- 
riage. I  was  then  quite  fresh  in  the  matter  of  public  con- 
veyances. My  things  were  carried  away  to  the  other  side 
of  the  city,  though  Aunt  Hastings,  with  some  trouble,  pro- 
cured them  again. 

Nothing  of  importance  occurred  to  mark  the  remainder 
of  my  stay,  except  my  visit  to  the  theatre,  which  was 
brought  about  very  unexpectedly  to  myself. 

One  evening  Bessy  had  gone  out  to  walk  with  a  tall, 
grave,  pleasing,  and  gentlemanly  personage,  who  sometimes 
called,  and  with  whom  we  now  and  then  fell  into  company 
in  the  Mall. 


14:0  HOME. 

On  these  occasions,  I  had  more  than  once  seen  the  quick 
blush  on  Bessy's  face,  when  answering  his  particularly  kind 
and  respectful  greeting,  and  came  to  my  own  conclusions 
upon  the  subject. 

Aunt  Hastings  and  I  were  sitting  in  her  chamber  ;  I  had 
been  reading  to  her  from  the  newspaper,  till  the  softening 
shadows  of  twilight  were  gently  falling  around.  I  sat 
musing  in  silence  by  the  window,  listening  to  the  ceaseless 
echo  of  footsteps  on  the  pavement  below. 

"  What  are  you  in  a  brown  study  about,  Anna  ?" 

"I  am  thinking,  aunt,  about  the  notice  of  the  theatre 
that  I  saw  in  the  paper  ;  one  of  Shakspeare's  plays  is  to  be 
acted  to-morrow  evening,  and  I  should  like  much  to  see  it. 
Do  you  ever  go,  Aunt  Hastings  ?" 

"We  attended  the  theatre  once,  soon  after  we  were 
married,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  have  had  no  wish  to  go  since.  I 
should  not  object  to  any  one's  going  for  once,  but  the  prac- 
tice of  attending  the  theatre  is  one  of  the  most  pernicious 
of  habits." 

"  Aunt  Brooks,"  said  I,  hesitatingly,  "  told  me  it  was 
improving  to  read  Shakspeare's  plays,  and  to  study  his 
female  characters." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Brooks  is  a  great  reader,  and  finds  some- 
thing to  admire  in  every  thing  ;  but  though  she  may  some- 
times read  them,  she  would  by  no  means  approve  of  going 
to  see  the  same  plays  acted." 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  I ;  "it  seems  to  me  it  would  only  be 
the  more  interesting." 

"Undoubtedly  it  would,  and  also  for  that  reason  the 


"MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM."  141 

more  pernicious.  The  late  hours  tend  to  destroy  all  sober 
and  regular  habits  ;  half  the  night  spent  in  a  state  of  fever- 
ish excitement  unfits  both  mind  and  body  for  every  duty, 
as  well  as  all  calm  and  rational  enjoyments,  even  were  there 
no  bad  influences  from  the  sentiments^  which,  not  seldom, 
are  far  from  being  pure  and  wholesome." 

"  But,  aunt,  why  could  not  the  best  of  them  be  acted  in 
the  day,  and  thus  avoid  that  evil  ?" 

"Few  would  care  to  see  them  performed,  when  stripped 
of  all  the  illusion  consequent  upon  the  glare  and  dazzle  of 
evening  lights.  The  fascination  is  chiefly,  not  in  the  play 
itself,  but  in  the  music,  the  rich  decorations,  the  display  of 
dress  and  gaiety,  the  high-wrought  excitements  of  the  place 
and  hour,  by  which  one  is  carried  away.  The  heated  fancy 
still  craves  renewal  of  the  alluring  pleasure,  till  property  is 
squandered,  business  neglected,  and  all  the  duties  of  life 
become  a  disgust  and  burden.  Many  promis^n^  sons,  who 
might  have  been  a  blessing  to  their  parents,  and  to  society, 
have  been  thus  ruined  for  this  world  and  the  next.  The 
passion  for  attending  the  theatre  has  been  the  inlet  to  all 
kinds  of  vice.  My  own  son,"  said  she,  "  might  have  taken 
the  same  course,  but  for  the  judicious  restraint  of  his 
father  ;  it  was  only  just  before  his  marriage  that  he  saw 
the  inside  of  a  theatre  ;  and  Bessy  has  never  been,  though 
I  intend  she  shall  gratify  her  curiosity  on  some  fitting  occa- 
sion. I  do  not  object  to  a  single  visit ;  perhaps  it  is  well 
for  each  one  to  judge  for  himself ;  nor  will  one  be  apt  to 
judge  wrong  the  first  time,  if  properly  educated." 

My  aunt's  remarks  led  to  rather  a  revulsion  of  feeling  in 


142  HOME. 

regard  to  going  to  the  play  ;  but  the  next  morning  it 
chanced  that  Bessy's  friend,  before  alluded,  to  met  us  in  the 
Mall  again,  and  spoke  of  the  subject,  saying  that  he  did  not 
make  a  practice  of  attending,  but  it  was  seldom  that  one  of 
Shakspeare's  plays  was  represented  ;  and,  in  fine,  he  would 
be  happy  to  have  us  occupy  a  box  with  him,  with  the  sanc- 
tion of  Bessy's  parents  ;  adding,  that  he  would  call  and 
consult  with  them. 

He  did  so,  and  a  party  was  made  up,  consisting  of 
Cousin  Joseph  and  his  charming  young  wife,  Bessy,  her 
friend  Mr.  Lansing,  and  myself.  I  felt  quite  ashamed, 
afterwards,  that  all  memory  of  the  subject  of  the  play,  upoo 
which  I  had  previously  thought  so  much,  was  lost  in  a  con 
fused,  dazzling  cloud  of  images,  so  delightful,  so  intoxi- 
cating to  my  senses,  that  my  head  was  dizzy  with  pleasure 
and  excitement.  For  a  day  or  two  after,  I  was  in  a  bewil 
dered  mazfcof^  sweet  sounds  and  gorgeous  scenes  of  beauty 
The  play  was  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  of  which  I 
only  recollect  the  descent  of  the  fairies  to  their  enchanted 
ring,  as  they  gently  and  softly  floated  down  one  after 
another,  wafted  by  some  invisible  agency,  with  the  most  per- 
fect grace  and  elegance  in  all  their  airy  motions,  enveloped 
by  a  light  shadowy  beauty,  pervaded  by  a  sort  of  haze 
which  enhanced  the  illusion,  while  music  distant  and  uncer- 
tain, but  wild  and  sweet,  completed  the  enchantment. 


A   SEA   VOYAGE.  143 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

A   SEA   VOYAGE. 

MARY  now  arrived,  with  my  new  brother,  Doctor  Emery, 
on  whom  I  too  was,  for  the  time,  dependent  for  protection 
as  well  fts  happiness.  No  brother  could  have  been  kinder  ; 
all  care  and  anxiety  were  confided  to  my  companions  as 
freely  as  a  child  abandons  itself  to  its  joyous  pleasures,  trust- 
ing in  a  father's  care. 

The  little  preparation  they  had  to  make  was  speedily 
accomplished,  and  in  a  few  days  our  passage  was  bespoken 
in  a  dingy  schooner — albeit  the  best  to  be  found — waiting 
for  favorable  winds. 

We  had  no  very  sanguine  expectations  of  pleasure,  for 
Mary  and  I,  it  must  be  confessed,  awaited  almost  trem- 
blingly our  voyage  to  Danger,  which  seemed  to  me  then  a 
committal  of  life  and  safety,  as  vast,  perilous,  and  formida- 
ble, as  now  to  circumnavigate  the  globe. 

Onr  friends  talked  most  discouragingly  of  the  prospect 
of  going  to  the  distant,  dreary  province  of  Maine,  into  the 
wild  country  and  among  wild  Indians  ;  representing  the 
rigors  of  the  climate  so  great  as  to  cause  an  average  of  six 
feet  of  snow,  and  a  winter  of  six  months'  continuance.  Dr. 
Emery,  however,  though  careful  to  give  a  moderate  color- 
ing to  our  anticipations,  bore,  from  actual  knowledge,  a 
more  favorable  testimony.  This  region  was  already  attract- 


144:  HOME. 

ing  attention  from  enterprising  men  to  its  vast  wealth  of 
timber  land,  its  majestic  forests  of  almost  ocean  breadth,  in 
which  were  already  discerned  the  life  of  its  traffic,  and  a 
broad  basis  of  prosperity.  Nor  were  inducements  wanting 
in  the  awards  of  husbandry,  to  which  the  virgin  soil,  the 
pleasant  aspect  of  the  country,  and  above  all,  the  low  price 
of  land,  invited. 

It  was  a  warm,  bright  evening,  when  at  length,  all  being 
ready,  we  stood  upon  the  deck  of  the  little  coasting  vessel 
that  was  to  convey  us  to  the  new  settlement  of  Bangor,  our 
first  destination.  Sitting  on  a  rude  bench,  we  watched  the 
slowly  receding  city,  bathed  in  a  flood  of  amber  light,  from 
the  glorious  setting  sun. 

"  Beautiful  city  1"  said  I,  "  farewell  to  your  sumptuous 
dwellings,  and  your  scenes  of  magnificence  and  gaiety!" 

"  And  farewell,  too,  proud  city  I"  said  Dr.  Emery,  "  to 
your  busy  multitudes,  your  merchandise,  your  traffic,  and 
your  wealth  ;  yet  all  this  had  a  beginning — the  rough  cut- 
tings of  the  unhewn  block  must  precede  the  polished  shaft 
— so  we  go  to  lay  the  foundation  ;  the  stern  labor  of  com- 
mencing the  edifice  will  be  &ur  part  in  the  new  region  to 
which  we  are  bound." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  "  less  than  two  hundred  years  ago 
here  the  sea  beat  against  a  wild  and  solitary  shore  ;  the 
first  settlers  called  it  the  beautiful  Tri-mouutain,  and  spoke 
of  the  soft  verdure  which  covered  its  triple  crown,  rising 
with  graceful  swell  above  the  blue  waters." 

"  A  few  years  later,"  said  her  husband,  "  the  royal  go- 
vernor of  Massachusetts  Colonv  had  a  Fort  Pownal  in  this 


A   SEA  VOYAGE.  145 

bay,  with  track-house  for  trading  with  the  Tarratines  ; 
then  there  were  forests  all  around,  unexplored  by  the 
whites,  and  unknown  except  as  the  region  and  domain  of 
the  red  man." 

"  Now  a  noble  city  has  started  into  life  and  beauty," 
said  Mary  ;  "  an  enduring  monument  of  the  piety,  wisdom, 
and  enterprise  of  our  fathers." 

"  Boston,"  said  Dr.  Emery,  "  is  justly  the  pride  of  New 
England.  She  is  yet  in  the  morning  of  her  strength — the 
race  is  before  her." 

Thus  we  conversed  till  darkness  gathered  around  us  ;  it 
was  a  clear  star-light  night,  and  I  gazed,  spellbound,  on  the 
widening  sweep  of  waters  as  we  rapidly  passed  islet  and 
headland,  the  distant  light-houses  sending  their  friendly 
rays  far  over  the  heaving  waste.  Soon  we  were  upon  the 
open  sea,  that  rolled  continuous  for  thousands  of  miles,  that 
had  rolled  unchanged  for  thousands  and  thousands  of 
years ! 

What  a  grand,  yet  awful  spectacle  is  the  ocean  I  What 
hosts  of  human  beings  have  its  waves  devoured  !  What 
treasures  lie  hid  beneath  its  dark  bosom  I  Its  restless  tide 
flows  on,  ever  the  same  ;  generations  may  live  and  die, 
suffer  or  enjoy  ;  races  of  men  start  into  existence,  and  be- 
come extinct  ;  cities  may  be  settled,  prosper,  or  perish  ; 
commerce,  wealth,  science,  philanthropy,  flourish  or  decline  ; 
the  sea  cares  not — heeds  not — it  sleeps  in  calm,  or  it  heaves 
and  roars,  it  tosses,  it  dashes  against  the  shore,  all  indepen- 
dent and  alone. 

We  sat  in  silence  and  in  darkness,  while  the  gleam  of  the 
7 


146  HOME. 

dark  waters  shot  up,  ever  and  anon,  like  the  fearful  eye  of 
a  giant  thing  of  life,  filling  the  soul  with  mysterious  awe 
and  terror,  as  our  bark  rolled  on  over  the  heaving  tide. 
Ere  long  all  sense  and  feeling  wera  lost,  save  a  troubled 
consciousness  of  tossing,  pitching,  plunging,  in  a  wild  whirl 
of  confusion,  and  Dr.  Emery  could  scarce  attend  us  to  the 
cabin,  ere  himself  needed  assistance. 

The  passage  was  long  and  stormy,  the  little  vessel  rocked 
from  side  to  side  most  unmercifully  ;  most  unlike  it  was  to 
the  rapid  and  smooth  transit  of  our  modern,  commodious, 
and  elegant  steamers  over  the  same  waters.  Even  danger 
came  near,  for,  after  being  tossed  about  for  some  days  on 
the  open  sea  by  the  fury  of  the  winds,  when  the  storm  at 
last  ceased,  the  night  shut  in  cloudy  and  dark,  and  all  at 
once  we  were  startled  by  an  nnnsual  noise  and  confusion,  fol- 
lowed by  a  sudden  crash,  and  instant  rush  of  all  movable 
things  into  one  mass.  The  vessel  was  thrown  upon  her 
side,  she  having  in  the  darkness  "run  foul"  of  a  fishing 
craft,  making  a  most  narrow  escape  from  being  capsized 
and  sent  to  the  bottom.  The  next  morning  we  were 
rejoiced  to  find  ourselves  in  Penobscot  Bay,  coining  into 
calm  water.  The  crew  and  passengers  were  talking  eagerly, 
in  high  excitement,  over  the  accident  of  the  night,  all  agree- 
ing that  it  was  an  almost  miraculous  escape,  and  the  cap- 
tain boasted  the  superior  rigging  of  the  schooner,  to  which 
he  declared  our  safety  had  been  owing.  Weak  and  misera- 
ble as  I  felt,  I  was  forced  to  laugh  heartily  at  the  earnest 
gestures  of  one  man,  an  old  sea  captain,  half  intoxicated  ; 
he  pressed  eagerly  up  to  each  one,  reiterating  in  a  loud  voice, 


A   SEA   VOYAGE.  147 

and  in  the  queerest  manner,  "  Ob  !  I  tell  you  we  'scaped  a 
great  marcy  ;  we  'scaped  a  wonderful  great  marcy  1" 

Soon  after  this  we  were  becalmed,  and  lay  at  anchor  near 
an  island,  where  it  was  proposed  to  go  ashore,  as  the  best 
remedy  for  sea-sick uess.  Mary  was  extremely  timid  on  the 
water,  and  would  not  trust  herself  to  the  frail-looking  boat, 
but  I  had  no  fear,  and  longed  to  set  foot  on  land  again, 
even  for  a  few  minutes. 

The  gentlemen  proffered  their  best  assistance.  The  bluff, 
good-humored  captain  said,  "  Yes,  give  her  a  smack  of  the 
land  breeze,  and  she'll  get  her  color  back  again,"  and  taking 
me  right  up  hi  his  arms,  he  handed  me  over  the  side  of  the 
vessel,  as  if  I  had  been  a  little  child.  We  soon  reached  the 
long,  low  island,  and  finding  some  blueberry  bushes,  I 
plucked  some  of  the  leaves,  and  ate  them  for  very  love  and 
longing  for  something  from  the  green  earth.  No  sooner 
had  I  swallowed  them  than  I  felt  instant  relief,  all  nausea 
was  gone,  I  was  a  new  being,  and  experienced  at  once  the 
"gladness  that  bathes  the  spirit  in  that  one  feeling  of 
health,  when  the  flow  of  nature's  vital  flood  is  pure  and 
unimpeded  1" 

After  rambling  and  scrambling  among  the  rocks  and 
bushes  for  half  an  hour,  proving  with  every  step  "  the 
vivid  sense  of  what  there  is  delightful  in  the  breeze,"  I 
returned,  extolling  the  virtue  of  the  blueberry  leaves,  but 
Mary  laughingly  declared  them  without  efficacy  unless 
eaten  on  land.  She  was  now,  however,  quite  recovered,  as 
well  as  I. 

We  lingered  along  for  lack  of  wind,  spending  one  entire 


148  HOME. 

day  on  shore,  in  quite  a  social  manner  ;  notwithstanding 
the  delay,  the  passage  up  the  river  was  pleasant  to  us,  we 
were  in  the  mood  to  enjoy  everything  now,  the  varieties  of 
the  coast,  the  little  villages  seen  from  time  to  time,  and  now 
and  then  the  lone  house  on  the  shore,  overlooking  the  broad 
tranquil  river.  We  arrived  at  Bangor  just  at  evening 
and  walked  to  the  only  tavern,  a  few  rods  distant,  the 
motion  of  the  vessel  making  the  ground  appear  to  rise  to 
meet  me  at  every  step. 

Dr.  Emery  had  his  few  household  goods  and  effects 
stored  in  a  small  building,  which  stood  alone  on  the  landing, 
and  was,  when  the  tide  was  in,  quite  over  the  water.  It 
belonged  to  one  of  our  fellow  passengers,  Captain  Stephens, 
a  military  gentleman  of  talent  and  education,  who  subse- 
quently attained  some  rank  in  the  United  States'  service. 


BANGOB.  149 


CHAPTER    XXI  Y. 

B  ANG  0  B. 

THE  next  morning  we  looked  around  the  new  town,  then 
almost  a  wilderness,  but  giving  evident  promise  of  future 
importance. 

It  occupied  a  low,  level  space  near  the  shore,  or  rathe. 
on  both  sides  of  the  wild,  romantic  Kenduskeag,  here  join- 
ing the  main  river,  Penobscot,  which  making  a  beud  round 
a  considerable  point  of  land,  formed  a  fine  harbor,  already 
inviting  a  brisk  trade  in  fishing  and  lumber. 

The  tributary  stream  was  crossed  by  a  small  ferry-boat 
near  where  it  emptied,  and  its  course  could  be  seen  for  some 
distance,  deeply  shaded  by  thick  trees  and  overhanging 
bushes.  The  banks  rising  more  or  less  abruptly,  to  a  high 
hill  on  either  side,  were  almost  wholly  covered  with  the  prime- 
val growth  of  the  forest.  Two  or  three  comfortable  houses, 
some  small  cottages  and  log-huts,  together  with  a  number 
of  stores  and  shops,  on  the  "  flat "  near  the  shore,  com- 
prised at  that  time,  the  whole  of  Bangor,  even  the  limited 
space  that  was  cleared  being  defaced  by  many  an  unsightly 
stump. 

Dr.  Emery  left  after  two  or  three  days,  to  return  for  us 
as  soon  as  he  should  be  able  to  arrange  things  comfortably 
in  the  new  home,  to  which  we  were  going. 

Our  landlady,  good  Mrs.  Bolls,  was  extremely  kind  to  us. 


150  HOME. 

She  was  an  admirable  woman;  kind,  cheerful,  prompt,  and 
efficient,  she  managed  her  large  household  with  equal  discre- 
tion and  good  temper.  I  seem  to  hear  her  voice  even  now, 
as  she  was  wont  to  speak  to  her  rough,  unprincipled  husband 
in  such  a  pleasant,  lively  way,  yet  with  a  touch  of  reproof 
at  his  rude  oaths  or  thoughtless  words :  it  was  the  autho- 
rity of  goodness  and  not  seldom  he  felt  and  yielded  to  it. 

They  had  a  daughter,  Eleanor,  about  two  years  younger 
than  myself,  a  confident  and  forward  girl,  good-natured 
withal  and  kind-hearted,  quite  mistress  of  herself  on  all 
occasions :  she  would  laugh  and  talk  saucily  with  the  young 
men  at  her  father's  table,  wii/h  the  greatest  ease  and 
assurance,  while  I  could  scarcely  converse  at  all,  but  my 
tell-tale  cheeks  would  painfully  betray  my  timidity  and 
embarrassment. 

Miss  Eleanor  attached  herself  to  me,  and  I  was  soon 
quite  at  home  with  her. 

Not  a  little  attention  was  bestowed  upon  Mary  and 
myself.  Dr.  Emery's  character  and  bearing  commanded 
respect,  and  Mary  always  won  favor  from  her  sprightliness 
and  charming  agreeable  manner,  no  less  than  the  unaffected 
sweetness  of  her  nature.  As  for  myself,  I  was  but  a  child 
in  feeling  or  experience,  innocent  quite  of  any  wish  or 
thought  of  particular  attention  from  the  other  sex. 

I  could  sing  songs,  laugh  and  frolic  in  happy  thoughtless- 
ness, wondering  at  the  notice  I  received,  not  deeming  myself 
fit  for  the  companionship  of  gentlemen  so  much  older,  so 
accomplished,  apparently,  in  all  that  makes  up  what  is 
called  the  "  air  of  fashion  "  and  "  knowledge  of  the  world  ;" 


BAJNfOOR.  151 

for  society  then  and  there,  was  by  no  means  without  preten- 
sion to  elegance,  refinement  and  high  breeding,  and  justly 
too,  though  the  numbers  were  so  few,  that  every  accession 
was  hailed  with  warm  welcome.  From  the  very  paucity 
of  ladies,  Mary  and  I  were  complimented  with  all  the  charm- 
ing category  of  agreeable  things,  so  that  my  poor,  little 
foolish  head  was  in  danger  of  being  quite  turned  by  the 
attention  and  flattery  I  received. 

One  day,  accompanied  by  our  friend  Eleanor  and  Captain 
Stephens,  before  mentioned,  we  went  out  for  a  walk,  wan-, 
dering  along  the  curving,  irregular  shore  of  the  river,  in 
some  places  jagged  with  projecting  rocks,  in  others  smooth, 
with  here  and  there  an  old  tree  left  standing  alone.  On 
the  opposite  side,  two  or  three  log-houses  were  seen  half  hid 
among  the  trees,  and  behind  them  appeared  a  wood-napped 
eminence  of  broad,  gentle  outline  ;  further  on,  up  the  river, 
the  high  bank,  covered  with  dark  green  bushes,  threw  a 
deep  shadow  quite  across  the  water,  contrasting  finely  with, 
the  nearer  view,  which  lay  in  soft  sunshine,  wrapped  in  the 
hazy  atmosphere  of  an  autumn  afternoon. 

Around  the  landing,  and  at  various  points  up  and  down 
the  river,  groups  of  fishermen  were  engaged  with  their  nets; 
it  was  a  lively,  busy  scene,  to  me  as  novel  as  it  was  iiite- 
resiing. 

Near  where  we  stood  were  two  men  on  a  rock  in  the 
edge  of  the  water,  with  a  basket-like  net  held  by  two  poles 
as  a  handle,  which  they  dipped  in,  bringing  up  each  time 
the  struggling  fishes,  and  throwing  them  successively  on  the 
bank,  high  and  dry. 


152  HOME. 

"  This  is  beautiful !"  said  Mary.  "  The  dark  shadow  cm 
the  water,  with  the  green  bushes  on  the  hill  above,  forms  a 
perfect  picture  of  repose  and  quiet.  What  can  be  more 
graceful  than  those  tall  pines  and  firs  lifting  their  tops 
against  the  sky,  as  if  guarding  over  the  still  river  beneath  ?" 

"The  great  number  of  evergreens  adds  much  to  the 
beauty  of  the  forests  of  Maine,"  said  Captain  Stephens, 
"  giving  them  a  verdant  appearance,  even  after  the  wiutry 
frosts  have  dismantled  other  trees  and  lighter  foliage." 

"  But,"  said  Mary,  my  eye  misses  the  bright,  variegated 
tints  of  our  autumn  woods  ;  this  depth  of  green  looks 
solemn  and  melancholy." 

"  It  is  true,"  he  replied,  "  we  have  here  very  few  of  those 
beautiful  trees  which  give  such  brilliancy  to  the  autumn 
landscape  in  most  of  New  England." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mary,  "  the  dark  blue  tint  of  the  fir  is 
the  most  mournful-looking  of  all  nature's  infinite  varieties 
of  green,  and  the  woods  must  appear  sombre  and  dark,  even 
in  midsummer,  with  so  much  of  the  evergreen." 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  have  never  seen  more  beautiful 
vegetation  than  in  Maine.  Nature  is  bountiful  every  where, 
and  we  have  a  sufficient  sprinkling  of  bright  green  to  throw 
into  fine  relief  the  deeper  verdure  ;  while  the  cooler  nights 
and  more  plentiful  dews  give  a  soft  and  fresh  aspect  to 
summer  landscape,  seen  only  in  spring  in  your  own  Massa- 
chusetts." 

"  See,"  I  exclaimed,  "  what  a  quantity  of  fishes  those 
men  below  us  have  just  drawn  up,  and  look  at  the  bank 
above — it  is  covered  with  them." 


BANGOE.  153 

"  Those  are  alewives,"  said  Captain  Stephens  ;  "  it  is  a 
fine  day  for  them  :  not  many  more  will  be  caught  this  sea- 
son ;  it  is  almost  their  last  chance." 

"  Oh,"  said  Eleanor,  "  I  have  had  rare  sport,  many  a 
time,  catching  them.  We  girls  used  to  get  a  large  handker- 
chief— sometimes  our  aprons — and  dip  it  down  by  the  cor- 
ners :  we  often  caught  several  at  a  time." 

"  What  could  you  want  of  them  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  as  the  fancy  took  us  ;  sometimes  we  carried 
them  home,  and  sometimes  put  them  back  into  the  Water. 
The  sport  was  in  catching  them.  But  once  I  slipped  in, 
and  though  I  scrambled  out  again,  it  was  a  most  thorough 
ducking,  and  frightened  me  from  it  awhile." 

"  They  are  loading  those  two  vessels  yonder,"  said  Cap- 
tain Stephens. 

"  Are  there  many,"  asked  Mary,  "  employed  in  fishing  as 
a  trade  ?" 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  it  is  the  life  of  our  business.  I  have  seen,  in 
the  height  of  the  season,  more  than  a  dozen  vessels  at  a 
time  taking  cargoes  :  many  hundred  barrels  of  fish  are 
shipped  daily,  principally  alewives,  but  great  quantities  of 
shad  too." 

"  Are  those  delicious  salmon  caught  in  this  river?" 

"  Not  so  frequently  as  formerly  ;  the'y  retreat  before  the 
lace  of  man  and  civilization,  and  find  refuge  in  quiet,  lonely 
streams,  unvexed  by  the  noise  of  busy  labor,  and  the  creak- 
ing of  saw-mills." 

We  were  now  on  our  way  home,  and  being  near  the  store 
of  Captain  Stephens,  on  the  wharf,  in  the  chamber  of  which 


154:  HOME. 

our  effects  were  stored,  Mary  and  I  went  in  to  take  some 
things  from  the  chests.  Among  other  articles,  Mary  took 
out  and  put  on  a  satin  cardinal,  trimmed  with  fur,  quite 
rich  and  stylish,  which  she  had  procured  in  Boston.  When 
we  came  down  stairs  to  our  two  companions,  the  increased 
air  of  consideration  and  deference  yielded  to  the  handsome 
furred  cardinal  was  very  perceptible,  and  caused  us  no  little 
amusement ;  nor  was  that  the  only  occasion  on  which  honor 
was  given  to  our  "  trappings  "  merely.  The  idea  seemed 
very  absurd  to  me  then,  for  I  was  new  to  the  world  ;  I  had 
been  estimated  in  my  own  native  Wayland  by  the  actual 
knowledge  of  my  townsmen,  not  measured  merely  by  appear- 
ances. 

Dr.  Emery  had  been  gone  about  a  week,  when  we  heard 
it  mentioned  at  dinner  that  a  clergyman  from  Massachusetts 
had  arrived  the  preceding  day. 

We  took  little  heed  of  the  information,  but  in  the  course 
of  an  hour  or  two  after  a  gentleman  called,  and  on  being 
summoned,  to  our  great  surprise  and  joy  we  saw  our  own 
beloved  minister,  Mr.  Rice,  of  Wayland. 

He  informed  us  that  he  had  accepted  a  mission  to  spend 
several  weeks  in  this  remote  place,  destitute  at  that  time  of 
any  stated  worship  :  he  was  now  a  guest  in  a  private  family 
across  the  "  stream." 

Oh !  how  delighted  we  were  to  see  him — an  old  friend  in 
a  strange  land  1  We  had  a  long  interview^  conversing  first 
upon  our  own  private  affairs,  then  upon  the  situation  and 
promise  of  the  flourishing  little  settlement  in  which  we  had 
so  unexpectedly  met.  He  spoke  with  much  feeling  of  the 


•  BANGOR.  155 

want  of  religious  interest,  and  of  the  immense  importance 
that  a  right  direction  should  be  given  to  the  influence  of  a 
place  so  promising,  yet  open  to  so  many  evil  tendencies, 
from  the  diverse  character  of  the  inhabitants,  brought  hither 
from  various  places  and  by  different  motives. 

Just  as  he  was  leaving  us,  he  took  me  by  the  shoulder, 
and  regarding  me  awhile,  smilingly  said,  "  It  seems  but  a 
year  or  two  since  you  were  a  little  child,  playing  about 
under  the  trees  ;  now  you  are  a  young  lady.  I  suppose 
you  will  be  getting  married  one  of  these  days  ;  possibly 
before  you  are  again  under  the  wing  of  your  father  ;  but 
remember  one  thing,"  added  he,  affectionately,  almost 
solemnly,  "  be  sure  that  you  get  a  husband,  when  you  are 
married  ;  many  girls  marry,  and  do  not  find  a  husband,  and 
much  better  had  it  been  for  them  to  have  remained  alone." 

I  was  quite  confused  at  this  address,  but  thanked  him, 
telling  him  I  thought  it  wise  counsel,  and  trusted  I  should 
remember  it. 

The  next  day  our  good  minister  came  again,  accompanied 
by  his  hostess,  Mrs.  Woleby.  She  invited  us,  most  cor- 
dially, to  spend  the  ensuing  week  at  her  house,  in  the  com- 
pany of  our  beloved  pastor. 

We  gladly  accepted  the  polite  invitation,  and  thus  formed 
a  pleasing  acquaintance  with  a  most  estimable  family,  who 
subsequently  proved  valuable  friends.  « 


1 56  HOME. 

•V"  ':. 

CHAPTER   XXV 

THE     VISIT. 

"Be  such,  and  only  such,  my  friends, 
Once  mine,,  and  mine  forever." 

AT  our  new  friend's  we  were  made  to  feel  ourselves  qaite 
at  home.  Emilia,  the  only  daughter,  was  a  lovely,  gentle 
girl,  saying  little  herself,  yet  enjoying  much  the  conversa- 
tion of  others  ;  she  could  sing  some  of  my  songs  with  me  ; 
she  loved  to  read,  too,  and  many  a  good  time  we  had  to- 
gether in  her  owt  little  chamber,  poring  over  the  same  book. 

With  Mrs.  Woleby,  too,  we  felt  acquainted  at  once  ;  she 
was  so  essentially  motherly  in  her  every  look,  with  a  thought- 
ful, clear,  grey  eye — her  whole  aspect  indicative  of  good 
sense,  cheerfulness,  and  energy. 

The  house,  one  of  the  best  in  the  village,  was  on  the 
sloping  bank  of  the  Kenduskeag,  a  few  rods  from  the  river, 
which,  opposite  the  house,  was  quite  concealed  from  view 
by  the  thick  trees  on  its  banks  ;  a  little  further  down,  to- 
ward the  ferry,  Mr.  Woleby's  shop,  made  of  new  pine 
boards,  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  water  ;  a  road  led  to  the 
ferry,  but  in  every  other  direction  mere  foot-paths  led  into 
the  yet  uncleared  forest. 

Nothing  more  excited  my  curiosity  and  deep  interest  than 
the  native  Indians,  who  came  frequently  around,  entered 
the  houses  familiarly,  with  baskets  to  sell,  sometimes  with 


THE   VISIT.  157 

fish  or  game  which  they  had  obtained,  always  anxious  to 
trade,  and  very  shrewd  and  grasping  in  making  their  bar- 
gains. 

One  morning,  by  chance  looking  from  the  window,  I  saw 
an  Indian  coming  up  the  walk  to  the  door,  with  all  the  slow 
gravity  of  their  manner 

I  took  some  work  in  my  hand,  and  quietly  seated  myself 
in  the  kitchen,  to  which  he  was  approaching,  that  I  might 
gratify  my  curiosity  in  seeing  and  hearing  this  native  of  the 
soil. 

His  object  was  easily  divined,  for  he  had  a  large  salmon 
supported  on  his  crossed  arms.  He  came  in,  took  the  chair 
offered  him,  with  an  unconcerned  look,  without  speaking,  or 
even  looking  towards  any  one  in  the  room. 

"  Good  morning,  brother  !"  said  Mrs.  Woleby,  pleasantly. 

He  murmured  something  in  a  low  tone,  still  without  rais- 
ing his  eyes. 

"  What  money  do  you  want  for  your  fish  ?"  said  she. 

"  Fish  very  big,"  said  he,  without  the  movement  of  a 
muscle. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  very  good  one  ;  but  I  have  meat  for  dinner," 
said  she,  pointing  to  the  pot  o^er  the  fire. 

He  preserved  a  dignified  silence  of  several  minutes. 

After  a  time  she  offered  him  what  she  deemed  a  sufficient 
price  for  the  fish,  which  was  a  fine  one,  but  he  was  not  so 
easily  satisfied  ;  he  continued  in  the  same  posture,  with 
the  same  unaltered  composure  of  manner,  making  a  remark 
from  time  to  time,  as — 

"  Me  just  catch  him  ;  he  fresh  ;  he  very  big  ;  me  want 


158  HOME. 

great  piece  of  money  ;"  closing,  after  a  while,  with  naming 
his  price,  which  was  exorbitant.  - 

Mrs.  Woleby  was  accustomed  to  deal  with  these  people, 
and  finally  obtained  the  fish  at  a  fair  price  ;  taking  care  to 
pay  him  chiefly  in  pork,  and  other  articles  of  provision,  to 
lessen  the  temptation  on  his  part  to  procure  rum,  the  bane 
and  destruction  of  the  poor  Indian. 

While  he  sat  there,  Mr.  Rice  came  in  ;  he  was  a  man  of 
commanding  carriage,  very  tall,  with  piercing  eyes,  and 
black  hair.  The  red  man  watched  him  awhile  intently, 
then,  as  if  surprised  out  of  his  usual  reserve,  he  exclaimed, 

"  You  a  big  man  ;  who  made  you  ?" 

This  question  from  the  poor  untutored  man,  though  so 
amusing,  affected  Mr.  Rice,  and  he  sought  to  enter  into 
conversation  with  him,  but  could  scarcely  obtain  a  reply — 
perhaps  he  felt  his  want  of  a  command  of  words,  and  was 
too  proud  to  show  his  ignorance. 

Mary  was  quite  taken  up  with  our  recital  of  the  incident, 
and  an  excursion  was  planned  to  some  camps  a  few  miles  up 
the  river,  but  a  heavy  rain  prevented  our  going,  to  my  great 
disappointment.  Mr.  Rice,  however,  went  to  visit  them  at 
their  station  on  a  large  island  in  the  river,  at  some  distance. 
He  spent  a  day  there,  and  had  a  long  conversation  with 
their  chief,  from  whom  he  gained  much  knowledge  of  his 
tribe — the  once  powerful  Tarrateens — whose  sway  extended 
so  far  westerly  that  they  successfully  coped  with  the  fierce 
Mohawks  in  many  a  bloody  battle.  On  his  return,  Mr.  Rice 
described  to  us,  most  vividly,  his  talk  with  the  old  chief — 
the  dark  fire  that  glowed  in  his  eye,  as  he  recounted,  by 


THE  VISIT.  159 

emphatic  gestures,  the  stirring  deeds  of  his  fathers — his 
whole  soul  roused  into  intense  excitement. 

The  delightful  week  of  our  visit  quickly  flew  over  our 
heads,  and  we  repaired  again  to  our  lodgings  and  temporary 
home.  Our  excellent  Mrs.  Bolles  seemed  as  glad  to  see  us 
as  if  we  had  been  old  friends,  and  Eleanor  was  wild  in  her 
demonstrations  of  joy,  capering  about  the  room  full  of  talk 
and  glee  ;  but  the  kind  welcome  given  us  by  the  aged 
grandmother,  Madam  Bolles,  was  really  touching. 

She  was  quite  infirm,  and,  with  a  deformed,  sickly  daugh- 
ter, also  advanced  in  life,  occupied  a  chamber  just  across 
the  passage  from  us.  Mary  had  spent  much  time  entertain- 
ing them  in  her  own  sweet  way,  conversing,  singing,  or 
ministering  to  their  comfort  ;  for  my  dear  sister,  let  me  say, 
was  tireless  in  every  meek  and  sweet  modification  of  wo- 
manly duty.  The  tears  ran  down  the  good  old  lady's  cheeks, 
as  she  clasped  her  with  trembling  and  withered  hands,  bless- 
ing her  that  she  had  come  back  again  to  comfort  her. 


160  HOME. 


CHAPTFR  XXVI 

AN    EVENING   AT    MRS.    WOLEBY'S. 

NOT  many  more  days  passed  before  Dr.  Emery  come,  pre- 
pared to  escort  us  to  oar  new  home ;  he  could,  however, 
take  only  one  at  a  time,  so  I  was  to  wait  a  few  days  longer 
till  he  could  return  again  for  me.  Travelling  was  very  diffi- 
cult and  dangerous,  there  being  in  that  direction  no  roads 
except  a  mere  bridle-path  cut  through  the  forest,  occasion- 
ally trodden  by  a  few  ox  teams. 

The  evening  previous  to  their  departure  was  spent  at 
Mrs.  Woleby's  ;  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Rice  being  as 
great  and  unexpected  to  Dr.  Emery  as  it  had  been  to  Mary 
and  myself.  We  all  enjoyed  the  evening  much. 

How  forcibly  memory  recalls  the  pleasant  room,  the 
large  open  fireplace,  the  huge,  slowly-burning  logs — for  it 
was  cool  autumn  weather.  The  conversation,  too,  how  dis- 
tinctly it  comes  to  my  mind.  Much  was  said  of  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  region,  the  difficulties  and  hardships  of  the  first 
occupants  of  the  untamed  soil,  with  its  resources  and 
rewards  for  the  enterprising 

But  the  especial  interest  of  the  evening  was  in  the  rela- 
tion of  a  thrilling  incident  in  Mrs.  Woleby's  own  experience, 
which,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  was  in  these  words  : 

"  One  morning,"  she  began,  "  in  the  early  part  of  last 
June,  I  left  home  in  fine  spirits  to  pay  a  long-promised  visit 


AN  EVENING  AT  MBS.   WOLEBY's.  161 

to  an  old  friend  and  schoolmate,  who  lives  on  a  newly 
improved  farm  about  two  miles  up  the  stream,  and  on  the 
opposite  bank.  To  reach  my  friend's,  it  was  necessary  to 
follow  the  winding  cow-path  on  this  side  for  half  a  mile,  to 
a  place  where  the  trunk  of  a  large  pine  had  fallen  across 
the  narrow  stream.  Crossing  this  primitive  bridge,  a  walk 
of  a  mile  through  the  woods  led  me  to  the  opening  in  which 
stood  the  house.  My  visit  was  delightful,  for  we  had  been 
long  asunder  and  had  much  to  say. 

"We  lingered  over  the  parting  words  till  the  sun  grew 
low  in  the  western  sky,  when  I  commenced  my  homeward 
walk,  and  though  I  hastened  with  quick  step,  the  dark 
shadows  that  gathered  around  my  path  warned  me  of 
approaching  night. 

"  When  I  emerged  from  the  thick  woods  and  came  to 
the  rude  log  bridge,  the  early  twilight  showed  me  a  black 
object  on  the  end  of  the  log  at  the  opposite  bank,  and  a  few 
minutes  sufficed  to  confirm  my  worst  fears — it  was  a  large 
black  bear.  Agitation  and  terror  at  first  deprived  me  of 
all  thought ;  but  lifting  my  heart  to  the  God  of  the  defence- 
less, and  rallying  my  presence  of  mind,  I  began  to  think 
what  I  could  do.  To  return  to  my  friend's  house,  would 
not  only  be  unsafe  in  the  darkness,  but  my  absence  would 
alarm  the  fears  of  my  family  ;  to  attempt  to  reach  home  in 
any  other  direction  than  across  the  fated  bridge  was  vain, 
and  not  to  be  thought  of. 

"  Finally,  I  sat  down  by  a  tree  to  watch  my  companion — 
the  grim  sentinel  of  the  other  side. 

11 1  had  heard  that  this  animal  did  not,  like  wolves  and 


162 

other  wild  beasts,  prowl  around  in  the  night,  and  I  hoped 
that  ere  long  he  would  retire  into  the  deeper  shades  of  the 
woods ;  so,  with  beating  heart  and  the  most  feverish 
anxiety,  I  awaited  his  movements.  Almost  an  hour  I 
continued  in  this  strange  situation  ;  the  summer  night  wind 
cooled  my  face,  and  the  ruddy  twilight  which  shone  through 
the  branches  of  the  trees,  and  softened  the  bright  verdure 
around  me,  deepened  into  uniform  dull  shade,  when  at 
length  my  straining  eyes  saw  the  black  object  move,  and 
presently  Bruin,  slewly  rising,  walked  off  leisurely  into  the 
woods. 

"  I  have  no  recollection  of  my  passage  across  the  log,  but 
I  was  soon  traversing  the  woods  with  hasty  step,  not  ven- 
turing a  glance  into  the  thicket  around. 

"  Almost  flying  over  the  ground,  I  gained  the  more  open 
path  among  the  low  bushes  ;  here  I  overtook  a  boy  driving 
home  some  cows,  and  seldom  has  the  sight  of  a  human  face 
been  more  welcome." 

We  had  listened  with  breathless  attention  to  this  true 
story  of  startling  adventure.  Many  praises  were  bestowed 
on  Mrs.  Woleby's  courage  and  presence  of  mind.  An 
animated  conversation  followed  upon  similar  scenes,  wit- 
nessed or  heard  of  by  those  present. 

Mary  related  the  account  of  our  grandmother's  encoun- 
ter with  a  bear,  which  I  have  already  narrated,  and  Mrs. 
Woleby  told  us  some  of  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  this 
ferocious  animal,  of  which  I  remember  one  was  the  tender- 
ness of  his  nose,  his  most  vulnerable  point,  to  defend  which, 
he  will  instantly  drop  any  booty  he  may  have  secured. 


AN   EVENING   AT  MRS.    WOLEBT's.  163 

The  next  morning,  taking  an  affectionate  leave  of  the 
friends  who  had  shown  us  so  much  kindness,  Mary  left 
Bangor  on  horseback  with  her  husband  for  a  tedious  day's 
ride,  though  but  twenty  miles  to  their  home,  the  settlement 
of  Clemeuce. 

The  day  passed  rather  heavily  with  me,  for  I  did  not 
relish  being  left  behind  ;  but  early  the  next  morning  letters 
came  from  home.  Oh,  how  my  heart  leaped  at  the  well- 
known  characters,  and  how  doubly  impatient  I  was  now  to 
reach  my  destination,  that  Mary  might  read  them  too,  for 
we  had  longed — oh,  how  much  !  to  know  how  all  was  going 
on  with  those  dear  ones,  whose  names  were  so  often  on  our 
lips. 

Grace  gave  us  a  lively  picture  of  all  that  had  taken 
place  at  home  ;  and  Bessy,  dear  Bessy,  with  her  anxious 
sisterly  expressions  of  affection  mingled  many  kind  hints  and 
suggestions  modestly  set  forth,  just  like  herself.  One  thought 
I  remember  was  this — that  in  going  among  strangers  it  is 
very  important  to  discriminate  character,  and  not  to  yield 
implicit  trust  on  too  short  acquaintance — a  lesson  of  much 
practical  value  to  one  so  ignorant  of  the  world,  and  so 
unsuspecting  v,s  I  then  was. 


164  HOME. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THK    NEW   HOME. 

"  Around  their  hearth  by  night, 
What  gladsome  looks  of  household  love 
Met  in  the  ruddy  light" 

THREE  long  days  of  expectation  elapsed,  ere  a  messenger 
appeared  to  conduct  me  to  Clemence,  for  Dr.  Emery  could 
not  leave.  It  was  a  dull,  chill  day,  and  a  gloomy  ride  I 
had.  The  man  walked  by  my  side  to  assist  in  difficult 
places,  for  my  horse  stumbled  frequently  over  stumps,  roots 
of  trees,  and  deep  hollows  of  mud,  in  the  miserable  road 
through  the  wocds. 

So  thick  were  the  trees,  and  so  dark,  sad,  and  heavy- 
colored  looked  the  autumn  foliage,  that  the  forest  was 
literally  black  on  either  side  the  narrow  path. 

Before  half  the  day  was  concluded,  each  thump  of  the 
rough  road  gave  me  a  severe  pain  in  the  side,  and  when  at 
last  I  arrived,  about  dark,  I  was  fain  to  go  to  bed  with 
head  throbbing,  without  a  look  at  my  new  home. 

The  next  day  I  could  not  sit  up  without  fainting,  but 
11  youth  repairs  its  wasted  spirits  quickly,"  and  I  soon  began 
to  take  a  peep  at  the  strange  place  in  which  I  found  myself, 
which  I  felt  to  be  home,  since  it  was  with  Mary  and  her 
husband. 


THE   NEW   HOME.  165 

She  was  most  lively  and  cheerful,  neatly  arranging  her 
simple  furniture  in  the  very  small,  unfurnished  cottage, 
which,  however,  was  the  sole  framed  house  in  the  settle- 
ment. • 

The  settlement  consisted  of  about  a  dozen  houses, 
extending  a  mile  or  two  along  the  narrow  road,  a  mere 
uneven,  muddy  lane,  the  small  "  opening "  of  dun-colored, 
stump-ridden  fields  being  closed  in  by  lofty  interminable 
woods. 

Here  was  no  graceful  Pine-mountain  lifting  its  friendly 
head,  no  picturesque  valley  or  running  brook,  neither  pretty 
groves,  nor  waving  orchards,  nor  neat  gardens  ;  nothing 
but  dreary  fields  and  half-cleared  pastures,  in  which  a  few 
stunted  cattle  were  gleaning  the  last  scanty  herbage. 

There  was  the  same  sky  indeed,  the  deep,  serene  October 
heavens  now  beaming  down  upon  us,  and  again  murky  and 
troubled,  tempestuous  with  warring  winds,  the  gloomy  pre- 
sages of  coming  winter. 

Yet  in  this  little  place,  shut  in  by  the  blue  overhead,  and 
the  wall  of  dark  woods  around,  was  abundant  scope  for  the 
display  of  the  ever-interesting  actors  in  the  drama  of  life, 
the  fair  and  lovely  in  humanity,  the  kind  and  good,  the 
curious  and  grotesque — all  were  represented,  for  there  is 
everywhere  a  "  something  in  all  features,  and  all  tones  of 
voice,  and  all  manners,  betokening  origin  from  one  root," 
and  creating  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  human  beings,  as 
such,  wherever  they  meet. 

Monotonous  and  dull  as  the  place  looked  in  the  naked- 
ness of  autumn  desolation,  it  was  yet  a  ridge  of  excellent 


166  HOME. 

land,  rewarding  well  the  hardy  cultivators  of  its  strong, 
deep  soil. 

Fine  crops  of  wheat  and  other  grains  were  raised,  but 
the  difficulty  of  transporting  their  produce  to  market,  and 
of  obtaining  other  things  in  exchange,  caused  a  scanty 
supply  of  the  comforts  the  farmers  could  not  themselves 
manufacture. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  beautiful  simplicity,  the  unaf- 
fected kindness  and  warm  friendship  of  those  few,  but  most 
worthy  families.  Seldom  has  it  fallen  to  the  lot  of  mortals 
to  receive  more  cordial  sympathy  and  affection  than  were 
bestowed  upon  us  by  our  neighbors.  The  most  kindly  feel- 
ing, deeds  of  love,  and  a  sincere  friendly  interest  in  each 
other's  welfare  seemed  to  unite  them  together  almost  as  one 
family. 

We  were  especially  welcomed  by  this  isolated  little  com- 
munity, for  Dr.  Emery  was  the  only  physician  in  a  circuit  of 
many  miles,  and  his  settlement  among  them  was  hailed 
with  joy. 

Our  house  contained  one  moderate-sized  common  room, 
and  a  smaller  sleeping  apartment,  each  closed  up  with  pine 
boards,  unpainted  and  unplastered,  looking,  it  must  be 
confessed,  very  much  like  a  barn,  or  rude  shop.  My  sleep- 
ing room  was  the  low,  irregular  chamber,  where  between 
the  huge  chimney  and  the  little  square  window  was  ample 
space  for  my  bed,  which  Mary,  with  true  sister's  art  to 
please,  had  arrayed  in  her  prettiest  counterpane. 

She  had  also  hung  against  the  rude  chimney  opposite  the 
bed,  a  pretty  picture  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  a  fine  old 


THE  NEW   HOME.  167 

painting,  which  had  been  given  her  in  Boston.  Indeed  she 
had  almost  robbed  the  rooms  below  to  give  a  cheerful, 
inviting  aspect  to  my  little  loft. 

The  owner  of  the  house,  Mr.  Asa  Worth,  who  also  owned 
a  large  farm  with  it,  shortly  after  we  came,  added  another 
sleeping  room  of  rough  boards,  and  took  up  his  lodgings 
with  us  for  the  winter. 

His  presence  in  the  house  gave  to  Mary  and  me  a  feeling 
of  security,  in  the  long  winter  evenings  when  Dr.  Emery 
was  detained  by  a  sick  patient,  and  we  should  otherwise 
have  been  left  alone.  He  was  a  man  of  upright  character 
and  dignified  bearing,  and  we  soon  learned  to  respect  and 
value  him,  as  a  friend  on  whom  we  could  rely. 


168 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

SUNDAY   SCENES. 

JUST  across  the  road  from  us  stood  a  new  barn,  partly 
finished,  in  a  tolerably  smooth  field,  which,  with  the  farm 
belonging  to  it,  had  been  recently  sold,  and  the  new  owner 
was  shortly  expected  to  take  possession. 

This  barn  had  been,  during  the  summer,  the  appointed 
place  for  religious  meetings,  and  I  recall  quite  vividly  my 
first  Sabbath,  only  a  day  or  two  after  I  arrived,  with  the 
strange,  queer,  comical  aspect  that  every  thing  bore  to  my 
eyes. 

Rough  board  seats  were  laid  across  from  side  to  side, 
and  a  motley  group  covered  them  Old  and  young,  with 
every  variety  of  fashion  and  form  in  dress  and  appearance. 
Children,  women  with  infants  in  their  arms,  dogs  rubbing 
their  noses  against  one  and  another  as  they  ran  about, 
seeking  out  every  crevice  and  corner  of  the  strange  church, 
while  children  gambolled,  and  babies  crowed  and  screamed. 

But  the  preacher — oh  1  how  unlike  all  our  previous  con- 
ceptions of 

"The  holy  man  with  rer'rent  air, 
In  decent  garb  arrayed." 

He  was  a  youngish  man,  almost  boorish  in  aspect,  coarse 
and  illiterate  in  language.  His  long,  yellow  hair  hung 
down  his  neck  like  strings,  and  he  spoke  in  a  sing-song 


SUNDAY   SCENES.  169 

voice,  keyed  to  its  highest  pitch  ;  earnest  and  sincere,  how- 
ever, he  seemed,  and  many  of  his  hearers  listened  with 
devout  and  serious  attention. 

But,  joined  to  his  earnest  words,  his  sincere  exhortations, 
and  Scripture  aptly  quoted,  were  innumerable  blunders  ; 
and  at  last,  after  many  sudden  turns  and  digressions,  he 
began  declaiming  against  human  "  larnin  ;"  stating,  what 
none  could  doubt,  that  he  never  thought  beforehand  of 
what  he  should  preach  :  to  do  so,  would  be  sinful  distrust 
of  the  Lord,  who  taught  him  what  to  say. 

"  Just  think  of  Saint  Paul,"  said  he.  "  The  Bible  says  he 
was  brought  up  at  the  foot  of  Gamel  Hill,  which  must  have 
been  in  a  barren,  mountainous  country,  where  he  had  no 
chance  at  all  for  laruin." 

This  was  the  climax :  I  laughed  from  sheer  necessity, 
and  Mary  joined  with  me,  though  against  her  will,  for  we 
had  been  too  well  instructed  to  allow  us  to  turn  into  ridi- 
cule any  meeting  for  the  sincere  worship  of  God. 

When  we  got  home,  Dr.  Emery  seated  himself  by  the  fire, 
and  laughed  heartily.  "  Here  you  have  a  specimen  of  our 
Sabbaths,"  said  he,  "  and  of  our  very  instructive  religious 
teachers  ;  and  surely  it  requires  an  expanded  intellect  to 
receive  his  conclusions  respecting  Saint  Paul's  bringing  up." 
We  laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  Maryl"  said  I,  "can  it  do  one  any  good  to  attend 
such  meetings  as  these  ?'' 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  "  they  are  far  better  than 
none  ;  this  preacher  may  be  sincerely  pious,  unlettered  as 
he  is,  and  perhaps  he  and  his  hearers  are  more  acceptable 
8 


170  HOME. 

in  the  eyes  of  our  Heavenly  Father  than  many  of  the  great 
and  wise  who  meet  in  costly  temples,  surrounded  with  all 
that  wealth  and  luxury  can  bestow." 

"  But  only  think  of  his  blunders,"  said  I  ;  "  how  can  one 
help  laughing  in  his  face  ?" 

"  These  blunders,"  said  Mary,  "  though  ludicrous  enough, 
do  not  affect  the  heart,  nor  alter  the  Bible  itself,  nor  its 
truth." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  I,  "  that  so  many  should  be  found  to 
come  to  hear  such  preaching." 

"  In  these  lonely  neighborhoods,"  said  Dr.  Emery, 
"  where  life  is  comparatively  solitary  and  uneventful,  every 
occasion  for  mingling  together  the  social  human  sympathies 
is  hailed  with  eagerness.  The  people  come  together  to  see 
each  other,  especially  the  young  folks." 

"  I  thought  there  seemed  evidence  of  deep  religious 
feeling,  too,  in  many  of  those  present  to-day,"  said  Mary. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  he,  carelessly — for  at  that  time  the  sub- 
ject was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him — "  the  religious 
element  is  strong  in  every  human  breast  ;  man  is  ever 
reaching  after  something  higher  than  himself." 

"I  love  to  view  this  tendency  in  another  light,"  said 
Mary:  "that  God,  in  his  boundless  mercy,  is  reaching 
down  an  arm  of  love  to  draw  the  wayward  hearts  of  his 
creatures  to  himself." 

"  That  is  truly  a  beautiful  thought ;  worthy  of  you,  my 
Mary ;  and  it  may  be  so.  I  noticed  the  rapt  interest 
beaming  in  Mrs.  Paul's  face  ;  that  woman,"  said  he,  "  came 


^  SUNDAY   SCENES.  1/1 

not  less  than  four,  miles  through  woods,  where  there  is 
scarcely  a  path  through  the  tangled  bushes." 

"Is  it  not  dangerous ?"  asked  I,  recollecting  Mrs.  Wole- 
by's  adventure. 

"It  might  be,  perhaps,  to  traverse  it 'alone,  but  several 
go  in  company  ;  trees  are  marked,  from  point  to  point,  to 
guide  in  the  right  path  ;  many  come  from  that  distance, 
whenever  there  is  a  meeting." 

This  conversation  was  just  after  the  morning  service  ; 
the  preacher  went  on  his  way  to  another  congregation,  for 
the  evening,  and  the  afternoon  meeting  was  "carried  on" 
among  themselves,  several,  by  turns,  giving  "  a  word  of 
exhortation." 

One  addressed  us  as  "  this  intelligible  congregation,"  and 
told  us  we  were  "  born  to  trouble  as  the  sparks  are,  that  fly 
upward."  Another,  who  stooped  so  much  as  to  appear 
momentarily  in  danger  of  falling,  and  whose  common  appel- 
lation was  "  Broken-backed  Josh,"  talked  glibly  a  long 
while,  repeating  an  indefinite  number  of  times,  "  Let  ua 
pluck  ambrosial  fruits  from  life's  fair  tree." 

Others,  however,  spoke  in  a  manner  to  which  no  excep- 
tion could  be  taken  ;  all  were,  doubtless,  sincere  and  con- 
scientious in  the  discharge  of  duty,  and  thus  were  accept- 
able in  the  sight  of  Him  who  looketh  on  the  heart ;  and 
their  self-denying  efforts  to  sustain  religious  worship  were 
worthy  of  all  praise. 

After  this,  the  meetings  were  transferred  to  the  log- 
houses  of  the  settlement,  where  they  were  held  in  turn 
through  the  winter,  the  barn,  which  had  proved  so  commo- 


172  HOME. 

dious  during  the  summer,  being  now  called  in  requisition 
for  the  temporary  shelter  of  the  family  of  its  owner. 

This  family,  consisting  of  his  wife  and  two  children, 
shared  with  us  our  scanty  accommodations  for  a  week, 
while  the  husband  fitted  up  his  barn-dwelling  with  a  rude 
chimney  and  some  partitions. 

Thus  prepared,  the  dwelling  was  as  comfortable  and  com- 
modious as  many  of  the  other  houses  in  the  little  village. 


OUB  NEIQHBOKS.  173 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

OUR     NEIGHBORS. 

"  Think  us  no  churls ;  nor  measure  our  good  mindi 
By  this  rude  place  we  lire  in." 

WE  soon  became  acquainted  with  each  family  who  lived 
near  us,  our  new  neighbors,  visiting  among  them  freely,  and 
receiving  visits  in  return. 

No  small  variety  of  character  was  found  in  that  narrow 
circle. 

There  was  Mrs.  Tibbs,  tall  and  bony,  with  deep  furrowed 
face,  and  grizzled  hair,  bristling  out  from  under  her  cap, 
over  her  sharp  little  grey  eyes. 

She  possessed  a  singular  faculty  for  mangling  and  disjoint- 
ing her  words,  distorting  them  in  the  most  ludicrous  man- 
ner. Scarcely  a  sentence  of  our  mother  tongue  left  her 
lips  but  it  underwent  a  process  of  clipping  and  garbling. 

She  was  a  strange  being — an  exemplification  of  the  trnth 
that  in  actual  life,  individuals  are  found,  who,  if  faithfully 
described,  would  be  pronounced  forced,  unnatural  charac- 
ters. 

This  queer  old  woman  was  jokingly  called  "  Aunt  Kitty," 
from  her  partiality  for  cats,  for  she  always  had  about  her  a 
goodly  number  and  variety  of  the  feline  race. 

She  lived,  with  her  daughter,  in  a  little  hut  quite  near  us, 


174:  HOME. 

professing  the  deepest  poverty,  though  it  was  well  known 
that  her  husband,  an  industrious,  clever  man,  had  left  her  a 
comfortable  provision.  She  was  penurious  and  grasping, 
and  had  once  or  twice  been  surprised  in  counting  her  money. 
On  one  occasion,  Dr.  Emery  himself  having  dealings  with 
her,  saw  her  reluctantly  produce  some  of  her  precious  store 
from  its  singular  place  of  concealment — the  straw  bed  ! 

When  any  one  bestowed  a  favor  upon  her,  she  was  lavish 
in  her  praise  and  flattery  ;  but  if  called  upon  to  part  with 
her  idol,  even  to  pay  a  just  demand,  she  complained  bitterly 
of  her  destitution,  and  the  unfriendly  dealings  of  others. 

I  went  to  her  hut  once  with  some  nice  bit  ;  she  loaded 
me  with  thanks  and  praises,  declaring  nobody  was  so  kind, 
extolling  the  doctor  to  the  skies,  and  Mary  too,  say- 
ing, 

"  She  is  a  pretty  critter,  and  she  dresses  as  good  as  a 
queen  ;  but,"  she  added,  heaving  a  sigh,  "  beauty  nor  fine 
clothes  can't  pervent  her  life — she'll  lies  as  low  as  any  on 
us  1" 

Aunt  Kitty  never  failed  being  present  at  the  meetings, 
always  with  a  Bible  or  hymn-book  in  her  hand,  and  swaying 
herself  backward  and  forwards.  Then,  during  the  whole 
time  of  singing,  exhortation,  and  prayers,  she  kept  her  eyes 
riveted  upon  the  good  book,  as  if  some  potent  charm  per- 
tained to  it,  while,  in  truth,  she  knew  not  how  to  read  a 
word. 

Her  daughter  Marcy,  inoffensive  and  quiet,  extremely 
limited  in  the  range  of  her  ideas,  was  a  mere  patient  drudge 
to  her  mother.  She  was  simple-minded  and  single-hearted, 


OUR   NEIOHBOE8.  ITS 

most  conscientious  in  her  narrow  views,  living  and  dying 
one  of  Christ's  "  little  ones." 

She  had  a  delicate  face,  though  skinny  and  freckled,  with 
fine,  reddish,  light  hair,  which,  she  told  me,  she  never  curled 
but  once,  and  that  was  when  she  "  backslid." 

At  one  time,  with  much  circumlocution,  and  many  entrea- 
ties that  I  should  not  be  offended,  she  besought  me  not  to 
wear  a  ruffle  on  my  neck,  because,  as  she  said,  it  gave  "  so 
much  'casion." 

Visiting  once  where  she  was  present,  we  were,  as  usual, 
requested  by  the  lady  of  the  house  to  sing  ;  Mary  turned 
to  her,  saying, 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  a  song,  Marcy  ?" 

She  simpered,  twisted  about  in  her  chair,  blushed,  and 
with  a  simple  moral  courage,  worthy  of  more  weighty  cause, 
replied  : 

"  If  I  should  say  I  should,  I  should  tell  a  lie." 

Then  there  was  our  frequent  visitor,  a  Mr.  Tinney,  whose 
love  of  the  marvelous  often  constrained  him  to  narrate  most 
wonderful  and  incredible  tales. 

When  any  question  was  asked  concerning  the  particulars, 
which  might  possibly  lead  to  an  exposure  of  the  impossi- 
bility of  truth  of  these  "  entertainments,"  his  ready  reply 
was, 

"  Well — that's  a  little  more'n  I  can  tell  ye  ;  I've  asked 
Miss  Tinney,  and  she  don't  know." 

"  Miss  Tinney,"  as  he  called  her,  was  his  patient,  kind, 
and  forbearing  wife,  who  ever  tried  to  screen  his  faults, 
even  when,  influenced  by  the  liquor  he  loved  too  well,  be 


176  HOME. 

loaded  her  with  abuse.  She  was  a  most  pious,  conscien- 
tious woman,  who  would  not  for  the  world  exaggerate,  or 
deviate  in  the  smallest  degree  from  the  exact  truth,  yet  he 
loved  to  throw  upon  her  the  responsibility  of  his  ready-made 
falsehoods. 

One  family  near  us  soon  became  our  special  friends.  Their 
name  was  Campbell ;  the  father  was  of  Scotch  extraction  ; 
was  well  descended,  and  born  to  wealth. 

He  had  served  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  with  the  rank 
of  lieutenant,  and  like  many  of*  the  noble  men  of  that 
period,  sacrificed  to  his  whole-souled  patriotism,  all  personal 
and  pecuniary  considerations. 

Finding  himself  at  the  close  of  the  war  without  resource, 
he  plunged  into  the  forests  of  Maine,  resolved,  with  cheer- 
ful and  strong  courage,  to  win  for  his  young  family  home 
and  independence  from  the  virgin  soil  of  his  country. 

He  had  six  children,  of  whom  Margaret,  or  Maggy,  the 
eldest,  was  about  my  own  age. 

She  was  truly  a  sweet  girl,  reminding  me  at  first  of  my 
pleasant  acquaintance  in  Bangor,  Emilia  Woleby  ;  but 
while  not  less  gentle  and  amiable,  she  had  far  more  energy 
and  spirit.  Her  circumstances  called  for  exertion,  and 
she  cheerfully  gave  it  ;  she  spun,  she  wove,  she  tended  the 
dairy,  and  she  had  the  constant,  and  sometimes  almost 
sole  care  of  the  younger  children,  for  her  mother's  health 
was  feeble. 

Her  step  was  lively,  her  face  blooming  with  healthful 
exercise,  and  the  beaming  softness  of  her  eye  showed  that 
its  light  was  kindled  at  her  heart. 


OUR  NEIGHBORS.  177 

I  loved  and  esteemed  this  dear  girl  with  my  whole  soul, 
and  now,  after  nearly  fifty  years  have  passed  away,  as  I 
recall  the  days  when  she  shared  my  thoughts,  and  the  happy 
hours  we  spent  together,  I  still  feel  that  she  was  one  of 
earth's  loveliest  and  best. 


178  HOME. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

COUNTRY   VISITING. 

THE  first  visit  we  made  to  Mr.  Campbell's  convinced  us 
that  we  had  met  a  family  quite  different  from  the  ordinary 
stamp  found  in  pioneer  settlements. 

I  have  lived  in  the  most  polished  of  our  cities  ;  I  have 
been  familiar,  too,  with  places  so  retired  as  to  be  on  the 
very  verge  and  outskirts  of  civilized  society ;  and  every- 
where have  I  found  some  of  Nature's  noblemen — noble  in 
heart  and  soul — some  person  or  family,  cultivated  in  mind 
and  refined  in  spirit. 

Mr.  Campbell  was  a  man  of  fine,  noble  bearing,  with  a 
prompt,  decided  turn,  a  quick  bend  of  his  stout,  compact 
frame,  indicative  not  only  of  energy,  but  of  unbending 
integrity  of  purpose.  His  wife  appeared  to  me  a  mild, 
lovely  woman,  whose  retiring  virtues  must  be  sought  out,  to 
be  known. 

We  had  been  in  the  house  but  a  short  time,  when  Mr. 
Campbell  came  in  to  welcome  us.  After  passing  some  com- 
pliments with  Mary,  he  turned  to  me,  and  plied  me  with 
questions  of  all  sorts. 

His  manner,  both  frank  and  polite,  put  me  at  ease  with 
him,  while  he,  no  doubt,  was  reading  me  like  a  book,  sound- 
ing my  depth,  and  taking  the  compass  of  my  mind,  though 
I  was  then  far  enough  from  having  such  a  thought. 


COUNTRY  VISITING.  179 

"Is  Mr.  Worth  coming?"  at  length  he  inquired. 

I  replied,  that  I  did  not  know. 

"  Wife,"  said  he,  "  I  hope  you  did  not  forget  Asa  W  urth. 
He  will  hardly  forgive  you,  if  he  is  left  out,  where  Miss 
Lelaud  is  concerned,"  he  added,  with  a  curious,  searching 
look,  which  quite  confused  me.  Observing  it,  he  turned 
and  called  to  him  his  little  son,  playing  on  the  floor. 

"Come  here,  Archie  1"  said  he  j  but  looking  at  him, 
"Ah,  I  was  going  to  tell  you  to  go  and  kiss  the  ladies  ;  but 
I  see  you  must  have  your  beard  off  first.  Go  and  find  your 
razor,  boy." 

Maggy  vanished  with  her  little  brother,  and  soon  ap- 
peared with  him  again,  his  chubby  face  as  clean  and  fresh 
as  a  dewy  rose. 

While  we  were  there,  two  young  men  came  from  Bangorf 
on  a  journey  further  up  the  country,  stopping  at  Mr.  Camp- 
bell's for  the  night. 

They  were  brothers,  by  the  name  of  Green ;  one  a  law- 
yer, the  other  a  land  surveyor.  I  had  met  them  in  Bangor, 
and  their  presence  on  this  occasion  is  brought  to  mind  by 
the  fact  that,  at  their  request,  Mary  and  I  sung  a  song 
upon  the  Sedition  Act,  which  harmonizing  with  the  political 
views  of  the  company,  called  forth  a  shout  of  applause. 

We  were  obliged  to  repeat  it,  and  often  sung  it  after- 
wards, though  now  I  do  not  recall  a  word  of  it. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  succession  of  visits,  for  the 
doctor  and  his  family  were  favorite  as  well  as  honored 
guests,  and  in  many  of  them  I  found  much  enjoyment. 

We  all  went  one  evening,  by  invitation,  to  take  tea  at 


180  HOME. 

the  house  of  Mr.  Spear,  a  very  good,  pious  man,  who  occa- 
sionally preached  or  exhorted. 

His  family  lived  in  a  small,  low  house,  built  in  the  form 
of  a  shed,  having  a  roof  but  on  one  side,  entirely  unfinished; 
the  chimney  and  hearth  were  of  ^ough  stones,  with  a  huge 
fire-place ;  the  floor  of  split  logs,  With  large  cracks  between, 
through  which  the  cold  air  found  easy  admittance. 

There  was  but  one  room  in  the  house  ;  this  was  lighted 
only  by  a  window  with  four  panes  of  glass,  having  a  wide 
shelf  beneath,  on  which  lay  a  Bible,  hymn-book,  and 
almanac.  The  good  man  being  a  minister,  something  of  a 
library  was-  indispensable. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room  stood  a  turned  up  bedstead, 
apparently  of  home  manufacture ;  a  few  basket-bottomed 
chairs,  and  a  common  wooden  table  completed  the  furniture. 
There  was,  besides  this  room,  a  very  small  entry,  one  side 
of  which  the  good  woman  used  for  a  pantry,  and  a  small 
dark  place,  entered  by  a  rough  door,  swung  on  leathern 
hinges,  where  was  some  kind  of  a  convenience  to  lay  away 
children,  after  they  went  to  sleep  at  night,  of  whom  they 
had  four,  the  eldest  not  yet  five  years  old. 

It  was  a  winter  evening,  and  about  dark,  when  we 
arrived  at  the  house.  A  great  fire  was  blazing  in  the  old 
fireplace,  roaring  and  cracking  up  the  chimney. 

The  oldest  child,  a  girl,  lay  stretched  upon  the  floor,  fast 
asleep,  with  her  feet  towards  the  fire. 

Mr.  Spear  held  the  second  child  in  his  arms,  rocking  to 
and  fro,  from  two  legs  to  two  legs  of  his  rickety,  creaking 
chair,  invoking  sleep  to  release  him  from  his  labors  j  vainly 


COUNTRY    VISITING.  181 

enough,  however,  for  the  rebellious  urchin  continued  to 
kick  and  scream  most  lustily,  almost  drowning  our  voices 
with  his  noise. 

A  little  girl  of  eleven  years,  from  further  back  in  the 
woods,  who  was  staying  with  them  to  attend  school,  had 
the  third ;  while  the  mother,  with  the  babe  in  her  arms, 
assisted  us  to  unrobe,  laying  our  things  high  up  on  the 
posts  of  the  bed,  the  only  place  in  the  -room,  in  fact,  where 
they  could  have  been  bestowed. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  the  children  were  quieted 
to  sleep,  and  one  after  another  were  carefully  disposed  of 
in  the  dark  "place"  before  mentioned. 

Now  were  commenced  the  preparations  for  supper  :  a 
fine  spare-rib  and  a  sheet  of  biscuit  were  baked  before  the 
fire,  potatoes  boiled  in  the  tea  kettle,  the  tea  meanwhile 
steeping  on  the  coals  an  hour  or  more  ;  a  great  store  and 
variety  of  pies,  cakes,  pickles,  and  preserves  were  brought 
forth  ;  the  little  pine  table  drawn  out  and  duly  balanced 
on  the  uneven  floor,  and,  about  eight  o'clock,  a  most  excel- 
lent supper  was  served,  according  to  the  best  knowledge 
and  ability  of  our  truly  good  and  kind-hearted  hostess. 

After  the  onerous  business  of  the  table  was  dispatched, 
Mrs.  Spear  took  her  knitting-work  and  sat  down,  as  if  the 
visit  was  just  now  begun  ;  and  Mr.  Spear,  freed  from  the 
care  of  his  noisy  boy,  also  made  himself  very  sociable. 

Their  plain  common  sense,  and  real  kindness  of  heart, 
covered,  as  with  a  mantle,  the  defects  of  their  meagre 
accommodations. 


182  HOME. 

No  two  people  could  have  taken  more  pains  to  entertain 
their  guests,  to  the  utmost  extent  of  their  power,  and  we 
went  home,  feeling  assured  that  they  were  among  our 
valuable  neighbors. 


OUB   LANDLORD.  183 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

OUB   LANDLORD. 

" who  can  tell 

The  yearnings  of  his  heart,  the  charm,  the  spell, 
That  bound  him  to  that  vision  r" 

IT  is  time,  perhaps,  to  say  something  of  Mr.  Asa  Worth, 
the  owner  of  our  house  and  almost  from  our  first  residence 
an  inmate  in  the  family. 

He  was  a  short,  well-built  man,  rather  good-looking  than 
otherwise,  of  twenty-seven  or  eight  years  of  age.  Smart 
and  enterprising,  highly  esteemed  in  the  community,  he 
possessed  the  fullest  confidence  of  Mary  and  Dr.  Emery, 
whose  staunch  friend  he  had  ever  been. 

When  it  soon  became  manifest  to  them,  that  he  had  a 
special  interest  in  me,  it  naturally  enough  met  with  their 
approbation. 

I  regarded  him  with  great  respect  as  an  elder  friend,  and 
as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect  was  just  as  frank  and  trusting 
in  our  ordinary  intercourse  in  the  family,  as  if  he  had  been 
a  brother. 

Even  after  Mary  began  to  talk  with  me  about  him  and 
his  wishes,  I  did  not  take  the  subject  in  earnest,  and 
scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  it ;  with  a  sort  of  girlish  simpli- 
city, I  neither  understood  nor  appreciated  his  hints  and 


184  HOME. 

approaches,  but  laughed  all  off  in  a  joke  and  light-hearted 
glee.' 

When,  after  a  time,  he  spoke  more  plainly,  and  sought 
opportunity  to  find  me  alone,  I  parried  all  questions  and 
attacks  in  one  foolish,  light  way  or  another,  sometimes  with 
a  whirling  dance  round  the  room,  by  queer  looks  to  make 
him  laugh,  or  would  make  answer  that  it  was  a  strange 
thing  to  talk  about,  that  in  eight  or  ten  years  I  would 
begin  to  consider  the  matter. 

Sometimes  he  carried  on  the  joke  himself  ;  once  he  wrote 
an  obligation  for  me  to  sign,  purporting  that  I  should 
marry  him  or  forfeit  ten  thousand  dollars,  to  which  I  gaily 
put  my  name. 

I  think  now,  that  my  manner  and  treatment  of  him,  with 
his  knowledge  of  the  feelings  of  Dr.  Emery  and  Mary  in 
his  favor,  deceived  him  as  to  my  real  sentiments,  though  I 
was  most  innocent  of  any  such  intentions. 

But  I  was  like  some  other  silly  young  girls,  so  perfectly 
heedless  and  inconsiderate  that  I  scarcely  took  a  sober  view 
of  anything.  I  wonder  he  did  not  get  weary  and  out  of 
patience  with  my  levity  and  thoughtlessness  ;  but  thus  it 
went  on  during  that  winter,  and  indeed  much  longer. 

Mary,  from  time  to  time,  tried  to  bring  me  to  some  seri- 
ous thought  and  decision,  or  rather,  to  a  favorable  decision, 
but  I  still  declined  giving  the  matter  much  attention. 

The  time,  however,  passed  happily  along  ;  the  few  young 
people  frequently  met,  in  a  familiar,  social  manner. 

There  was  Jerry  Withington,  with  his  heavy  shock  of  red 
hair,  his  long,  freckled  face,  and  longer  nose,  but  otherwise 


OUB   LANDLORD.  185 

not  ill-looking,  and  passably  agreeable,  always  very  neat  in 
bis  dress  and  appearance  ;  and  Mr.  Allan  Ryler,  rather 
short,  with  bushy,  black  hair,  cropped  close  to  his  swarthy 
visage.  He  was  intelligent,  very  well  read,  and  a  great 
talker. 

These  two,  together  with  our  friend  Asa  Wurth,  were 
the  gay  gallants  of  the  small  settlement.  Their  kindly  prof- 
fered service  was  ever  ready  to  assist  females  to  meeting  on 
stormy  Sabbaths,  as  well  as  to  collect  the  fair  damsels  from 
one  and  another  of  the  log  houses,  and  convey  them  fleetly 
over  the  deep  snow,  in  sled  or  sleigh,  to  the  cheerful  gather- 
ing on  the  long  winter  evenings — the  time  of  leisure  and 
enjoyment. 

During  the  keen,  sparkling,  winter's  day,  all  was  stirring 
life  ;  the  huge,  slow-paced  oxen  were  driven  forth  to  their 
daily  work  ;  sometimes  to  make  roads  through  the  new- 
fallen  snow,  so  deep  as  well-nigh  to  come  up  to  their  backs, 
but  usually  drawing  the  almost  endless  piles  of  logs,  for  fuel 
in  the  cold,  unfinished  houses. 

The  voices  of  men  urging  forward  the  patient  beasts, 
mingled  with  the  jingling  of  bells,  and  the  creaking  of  the 
crisp  snow  under  the  pressure  of  the  enormous  sleds,  with 
their  loads  of  fresh,  fragrant  wood. 

Oh  !  those  winter  days  in  the  heart  of  the  old  woods  ! 
when,  for  many,  many  weeks,  except  for  an  occasional  fall 
of  snow,  the  sky  was  without  a  cloud — its  dazzling  sheen 
reflected  by  myriad  sparkles  of  pure,  snowy  crystals,  its 
blinding  radiance  tempered  and  beautifully  relieved  by  the 


186  HOME. 

surrounding  forests  of  evergreen,  resting  against  the  clear, 
pearly  sky. 

No  bleak,  driving  wind  could  penetrate  through  the  thick 
trees,  but  the  very  stillness  of  the  air  seemed  to  indicate 
intense  cold.  A  faint,  white  mist  arising  from  the  earth, 
like  an  icy  grasp  almost  arrested  the  deep  hurried  breath, 
while  the  blood  moved  swiftly  in  the  veins,  and  the  whole 
system,  wrought  to  unwonted  exhilaration,  was  stimulated 
to  new  life  by  the  clear,  cutting  atmosphere  of  those  Borean 
skies.  The  very  rigors  of  the  climate  gave  strength  and 
hardihood  to  the  frame,  energy  and  enterprise  to  the  mind. 

One  bright,  starlight  evening,  a  jovial  group  were  gathered 
at  Mr.  Campbell's  ;  in  a  family  near  them  were  three  grown, 
daughters— Estella,  Polly,  and  Ruth  Mudge.  These  girls, 
with  Maggy  and  myself,  comprised  all  the  young  females  of 
Clemence,  though  occasionally  others  came  from  neighbor- 
ing openings. 

Estella,  or  Telia  Mudge,  had  attained  the  mature  age  of 
twenty-two,  and  in  virtue  of  her  superiority  in  this  respect, 
felt  herself  entitled  to  take  the  lead  among  us. 

Besides,  she  was,  in  expressive  Yankee  language,  termed 
a  "  smart  girl"— bustling,  energetic,  dauntless,  and  capable. 

Her  eyes  were  black  and  piercing,  her  features  large,  and 
she  had  a  snip-snap  way  of  answering  one  which,  perhaps, 
gave  her  some  importance,  but  certainly  was  far  from  agree- 
able. 

Polly  was  pretty,  but  insipid  and  tiresome,  and  for  ever 
fingering  her  light,  dangling  curls. 


OUR   LANDLORD.  187 

Rath,  the  youngest,  was  quite  tolerable  ;  a  lively,  good- 
humored,  ordinary  girl. 

The  evening  was  spent  with  the  usual  amount  of  trifling 
small  talk,  petty  railleries,  and  romping  games  and  plays. 
I  was  called  upon  to  sing,  as  usual,  in  which  Maggy  could 
join,  but  the  Mudges  could  not  sing,  and  I  could  uot  help 
thinking  that  many  times  Miss  Telia,  especially,  felt  spiteful 
and  envious  towards  me  on  account  of  my  songs  ;  I  was 
never  quite  at  ease  in  her  company,  for  an  ill-natured  remark 
or  question,  or  some  covert  sarcasm,  was  sure  to  make  me 
feel  uncomfortable. 

Miss  Telia  had  a  grudge  against  me  for  another  reason, 
as  I  afterwards  knew;  she  had  "set  her  cap"  for  Mr. 
Wurth,  as  the  most  eligible  match  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
she  considered  me  in  her  way,  no  doubt. 

All  this  evening  he  was  quite  devoted  to  her,  evidently 
to  her  gratification.  She  was  disposed  to  be  pleased  with 
every  one,  and  I  was  in  a  gay  and  happy  mood,  entering 
into  all  the  amusements  with  much  zest. 

When  at  last  it  was  time  to  separate,  we  wended  our  way 
homeward  with  quick  step,  over  the  smooth  trodden  snow  ; 
Mr.  Wurth  going  with  me,  as  was  his  common  cus- 
tom. 

The  transition  from  the  warm  room  and  murky  fire-light 
into  the  clear,  cold  air,  sobered  my  spirits. 

I  gazed  in  silent  awe  at  the  solemn  cope  above,  with  its 
million  lights  of  heaven..  How  bright  they  shone  out  from 
their  dark  depths  in  that  pure,  keen  air  I 

We  had  more  than  half  reached  home  without  exchang- 


188  HOME. 

ing  a  word,  when  my  companion  suddenly  began,  not  in  the 
pleasantest  mood  : 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  haven't  more  agreeable  company — if 
Allan  Ryler  was  here,  you  could  talk,  I  dare  say,  as  fast  as 
you  did  with  him  this  evening." 

"  Certainly,"  said  I,  "  I  would  try  to  entertain  him." 

"  I  shall  know  better  next  time,"  said  he  ;  "I  shall 
know  enough  to  give  place  to  more  welcome  attendance." 

Not  having  much  fancy  for  this  kind  of  talk,  I  complained 
of  the  cold,  saying  I  must  try  to  shorten  the  road  a  little, 
and  started  into  a  fleet  run,  for  I  could  run  easily  and 
swiftly. 

He  kept  stiffly  on,  at  his  own  pace,  and  I  had  time,  not 
only  to  reach  home,  but  to  brighten  up  the  fire,  and  slip  off 
to  bed  before  he  came. 

But  my  thoughts  were  anything  but  pleasant  ;  why  he 
had  been  so  crusty,  I  did  not  know  ;  or  what  I  could  have 
done  to  offend  him.  I  recalled  the  occurrences  of  the  even- 
ing, recollected  that  he  had  scarce  spoken  to  me,  but  had 
been  very  sociable  with  Miss  Telia  ;  we  did  not  go  together, 
for  I  went  early  in  the  afternoon,  to  have  a  time  with 
Maggy  by  ourselves — was  this  the  reason  ? 

Or  was  it  that  Allan  Ryler  had  conversed  with  me  for 
some  time  about  Boston,  and  Massachusetts,  and  the  old 
times  of  the  war  ? 

I  felt  quite  sure  that  Mr.  Wurth,  by  his  movements,  pre- 
vented Allan  from  accompanying  me  home  ;  and  of  this  I 
was  the  more  convinced,  as  I  remembered  his  allusion  to 
Mr.  Ryler  on  our  wa~. 


OFB    LANDLORD.  189 

After  pondering  a  few  moments,  I  resolved  to  take  no 
notice  of  his  moody  manner,  treat  him  just  as  usual,  and 
care  nothing  about  it — and  so  I  fell  asleep. 

But  that  night  was  not  to  be  given  to  tranquil  slumber. 
I  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  voices  earnest  and  anxious, 
and  presently  Mary  called  to  me,  saying  that  a  fire  had 
broke  out  in  some  of  the  houses. 

The  doctor  and  Mr.  Wurth  were  just  upon  the  point  of 
starting  to  render  assistance,  telling  us  to  remain  quiet,  and 
they  would  return  with  information  as  soon  as  they  could. 

We  waited  and  anxiously  watched  the  lurid  glare  from 
the  burning  house,  rising  in  the  black  night,  till  near  morn- 
ing, when  they  came  at  last,  bringing  in  their  arms  little 
Janet  Campbell,  a  child  of  ten  years  j  she  was  wrapped  in 
a  blanket,  and  crying  bitterly. 

Oh  1  how  were  we  shocked  and  afflicted  when  we  knew 
that  it  was  indeed  Mr.  Campbell's  house  that  was  burned 
to  ashes  ! 

It  must  have  caught  soon  after  we  left,  for  the  flames  had 
made  considerable  progress  when  they  were  discovered, 
about  midnight. 

Mrs.  Campbell  was  ill,  and  was  the  first  one  awakened 
by  the  suffocating  smoke. 

None  were  near  to  help,  and  the  father,  rousing  his  faith- 
ful Maggy,  consigned  to  her  care  the  rescue  of  the  children, 
who  asleep  in  the  chamber,  were  most  distant  from  the  flames ; 
himself  secured  the  safety  of  his  wife,  and  by  the  aid  of 
neighbors  soon  arrived,  she  was  conveyed  to  the  nearest 
house. 


190  HOME. 

Then,  with  the  greatest  self-possession,  he  gave  directions 
to  the  confused  men  around  him,  bending  his  utmost  efforts 
to  save  from  destruction  the  barn,  where  were  his  hay  and 
his  cattle,  and  which  was  in  imminent  danger  of  catching 
fire. 

Dear,  noble  Maggy,  faithfully  performed  her  part  ;  she 
first  tried  to  wake  her  eldest  brother,  a  lad  of  twelve  ; 
repeatedly  she  roused  him,  pulling  him  up  by  main  force, 
while  the  boy,  in  his  heavy  sleep,  would  rub  his  eyes  and 
creep  back  to  his  bed. 

Meanwhile  she  carried  little  Archie  and  Stephen,  next 
older,  to  an  old  cart  that  stood  at  some  distance  from  the 
house.  Janet  and  Nanny  she  partly  dragged,  partly  car- 
ried, to  the  same  place  ;  the  oldest  boy  was  at  length  suf- 
ficiently aroused  to  follow  mechanically  to  their  shelter. 

There  they  all  crouched,  shivering  and  crying,  while  the 
agitated  and  breathless  girl,  scarcely  knowing  in  her  bewil- 
derment whether  all  were  safe  or  not,  went  back  to  the 
chamber  and  felt  in  each  bed  to  assure  herself  ;  then,  with- 
out a  thought  of  trying  to  save  even  their  clothes,  half 
dressed,  and  chilled  by  the  night  air,  she  returned  to  the 
little  company  to  watch  over  them.  There  she  found  her 
father. 

"  My  children  !"  said  he,  "  thank  God  they  are  safe  !" 

Looking  upon  them  weeping  and  half  naked — the  house 
now  was  one  sheet  of  flame — his  fortitude  forsook  him. 

"  Poor  forlorn  ones  1"  said  he,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  with- 
out a  shelter  for  your  heads  1  I  have  no  house  for  you 
now  I" 


OUR   LANDLORD.  191 

It  was  not  till  then  that  the  doctor  and  Mr.  Wurth 
reached  the  scene  of  disaster.  The  children  were  taken  in 
charge  by  the  neighbors,  finding  an  asylum  in  different 
families. 

Nothing  was  saved  from  the  house  ;  the  flames  were 
rapid,  and  there  were  not  means  at  hand,  nor  sufficient  aid, 
to  subdue  them  ;  yet  there  was  time  to  have  saved  many 
valuable  articles,  had  all  present  been  calm  and  self-pos- 
sessed. 

But  the  confusion  and  fright  of  many  only  impeded  the 
movements  of  the  few  who  knew  better  how  to  act  in  such 
an  emergency.  One  man  entered  Mrs.  Campbell's  sleeping 
room,  after  she  was  removed  from  it,  with  intent  to  save 
something  ;  and  looking  round  bewildered,  he  espied  her 
cap  hanging  upon  the  carved  top  of  the  looking-glass.  So, 
taking  it  carefully  down,  went  and  deposited  it  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance, instead  of  seizing,  as  he  might  have  done,  upon  the 
glass  itself,  bedding,  wearing  apparel,  or  the  many  useful 
and  necessary  articles  around  ;  but  the  precious  moment 
was  lost — all  became  the  prey  of  the  devouring  flames. 

Mr.  Campbell,  whose  whole  life  had  been  a  struggle 
with  difficulties,  and  who  had  barely  attained  to  a  tolerable 
freedom  from  the  rude  grasp  of  poverty,  now  saw  his  family 
houseless,  and  destitute  of  even  a  change  of  clothing. 

His  was  not  a  nature,  however,  to  yield  to  discourage- 
ment and  supineness,  but  was  rather  of  that  firm,  elastic 
metle,  that  the  harder  it  was  buffeted  the  more  it  would 
rebound. 

"  God  will  provide  a  way  for  us,"  said  he,  with  unwaver- 


192  HOME. 

ing  trust ;  and,  composed  and  cheerful,  he  began  at  once 
the  work  of  repair  and  renovation. 

And  now  were  shown  some  of  the  noblest,  loveliest  traits 
of  fair  humanity,  which,  however  overborne  by  selfishness,  in 
the  sordid  sluggishness  and  narrow  range  of  ordinary  life, 
never  fails  to  assert  its  high  empire  in  the  breast,  when 
roused  to  action  by  the  power  of  sweet-stirring  sympathy 
filling  the  heart  with  generous  emotions.  Our  little  neigh- 
borhood was  busy,  as  with  one  heart  and  soul,  in  retrieving 
their  losses  :  garments,  clothing  of  all  kinds,  many  things 
which  could  ill  be  spared,  were  freely,  gladly  offered,  and 
fingers  were  nimbly  plied  to  fit  the  gifts  to  the  wants  of  the 
sufferers. 

The  men,  too,  with  their  stalwart  teams,  at  once  set 
about  the  labor  of  felling  trees,  and  drawing  the  logs  for 
building,  and  with  so  much  vigor  did  they  work,  that  in  a 
few  weeks  a  house  was  ready  for  them.  Small,  indeed,  it 
was,  and  with  but  one  finished  room,  yet  a  welcome  shelter. 
Their  friends,  for  the  distance  of  twenty  miles  around, 
brought  offerings  of  bedding,  furniture,  and  provisions; 
while  from  Bangor  came  generous  donations  in  various 
forms,  till  comfort  again  smiled  in  their  dwelling,  and  their 
grateful  hearts  felt  almost  oppressed  with  such  generous 
kindness. 


BPEINO  TIME.  193 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

SPRING-TIME. 

THE  winter  passed  on  :  spring  caine  with  tardy,  unwil- 
ling step,  and  seemed  to  linger  long  on  the  threshold. 

If  a  bright  March  sun,  in  its  genial  warmth,  settled  the 
level  of  the  snow,  and  made  glistening  pearls  drop  from 
roofs  and  windows,  the  succeeding  day,  perchance,  brought 
fitful  winds  and  lowering  clouds  to  usher  in  a  storm  of 
driving  snow  or  sleet. 

Not  a  speck  of  ground  was  to  be  seen  for  many  changeful 
weeks.  And  then,  instead  of  soft  showers  and  warm  sun- 
shine, "  the  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day,"  light  falling 
snow,  mud,  and  rain  seemed  striving  for  empire  on  the 
bare,  brown  earth.  But  the  tall  cedars  waved  their  green 
tops  to  the  jolly,  careless  wind,  and  the  snu  shone  out  upon 
the  many-fleeced,  over-floating  clouds,  with  just  as  much 
fervency  of  good-will  as  though  their  bright  visages  looked 
down  upon  scenes  which  could  return  their  glances  of  beauty 
and  joy. 

When  May-day  came,  a  few  of  us,  emulating  the  delights 
of  more  Hesperian  climes,  were  intending  to  search  the 
fields  and  woods  for  early  blossoms,  peeping  from  their  cold 
beds  of  moss ;  but,  during  the  night  previous,  a  few  inches 
of  snow  noiselessly  fell,  spreading  a  pale  sheet  over  the  open 
9 


194:  HOME. 

land,  and  lodging  its  soft  burden  upon  millions  of  pendent 
boughs. 

Tbe  mild  morning  sun  looked  out  placidly  through  a  veil 
of  mist,  as  if  conscious  of  his  power  to  dissolve  each  tiny, 
feathery  flake  into  grateful  moisture  for  the  opening  buds. 

Our  promised  excursion  was  changed  to  a  May  party  at 
our  house,  of  "the  girls;"  that  is,  my  friend  Maggy,  and 
the  three  Mudges,  with  good  Mary  Tibbs,  who,  though 
much  older,  was  a  favorite  with  me,  for  her  simplicity  and 
kind-heartedness. 

Youth,  in  its  freshness  and  fullness,  has  little  need  to 
borrow  its  happiness  from  pomp  and  luxury  :  we  sung,  we 
twined  our  wreaths  of  evergreen,  we  read  a  new  book 
together,  as  light-hearted  in  our  homely  room,  as  if  wander- 
ing in  orange  groves  under  Italy's  fair  sky. 

No  small  amusement,  we  derived,  too,  from  watching  a 
party  of  children,  who,  not  to  be  baffled  of  their  sport,  went 
off  "  a  Maying,"  through  the  snow  and  mud,  "  rollicking 
and  frolicking,"  their  joyous  spirits  and  overflowing  happi- 
ness condensed  into  musical  little  pellets  of  merriment, 
rebounding  and  ringing  as  they  lavishly  scattered  them 
round. 

Towards  noon  we  saw  them  return,  draggled  and  weary, 
yet  protesting  they  had  had  rare  sport ;  displaying,  as  their 
reward,  a  few  handfuls  of  checkerberries. 

At  evening  I  stood  with  Mary,  in  the  open  door,  watch- 
ing the  retreating  forms  of  my  companions,  as  they  warily 
picked  their  way  over  the  yielding  mud. 

The  sun  had  just  set  in  glory,  the  air  was  mild  and  balmy, 


SPRING     TIMR.  195 

and  through  the  thick  net-work  of  leafless  branches  glimpses 
of  the  bright  sky  gleamed,  as  if  beckoning  to  some  fair, 
peaceful  region,  far  beyond. 

Mary  was  softly  singing,  as  she  awaited  the  return  of  the 
doctor,  who  had  been  gone  all  day.  He  was  soon  seen 
coming,  on  horseback,  at  a  slow  pace,  to  accommodate  the 
tardy  progress  of  a  pedestrian  at  his  side. 

A  few  moments'  scrutiny,  sufficed  to  show  me  that  the 
stranger  was  Allan  Ryler,  who,  being  now  employed  at 
some  mills,  four  or  five  miles  distant,  was  spending  that 
day  on  a  visit  to  Clemence. 

It  instantly  flashed  into  my  mind  that  his  name  had  been 
mentioned  at  dinner  by  Mr.  Wurth,  with  an  allusion  that 
plainly  pointed  to  me  as  the  object  of  his  coming.  ^ 

Thinking  only  how  to  escape  the  encounter,  I  gently  slid 
my  arm  away  from  Mary,  and,  going  up  stairs,  sat  down, 
half  trembling,  yet  resolved  not  to  be  seen. 

Snatches  of  the  conversation  soon  came  to  my  ears 
through  the  open  door,  and  after  a  time  my  name  was 
called  ;  but,  quickly  undressing,  I  retreated  to  my  little  cot. 

I  heard  Mary  say  she  thought  I  would  soon  come,  and 
wondered  where  I  could  be.  Presently  she  came  to  seek 
me,  and  was  quite  displeased,  though  she  could  not  help 
laughing,  to  find  me  snugly  ensconced  in  bed. 

She  endeavored  to  persuade  me  to  go  down,  urging  the 
incivility,  and  even  rudeness,  of  such  treatment,  since  he 
had  specially  inquired  for  me. 

But  I  persisted,  and  she  reluctantly  reported  me  as  hav- 
ing retired 


196  HOME. 

Allan  Ryler  no  sooner  heard  this,  than  he  started  up, 
walked  with  rapid  strides  across  the  room,  and  said,  in  his 
sharp,  quick  manner,  "  What  does  that  mean  ?"  Then 
taking  his  hat,  he  abruptly  bade  them  good  evening. 

I  was  blamed,  rallied,  and  bantered,  without  mercy,  for 
my  conduct,  which  was  indeed  foolish  enough.  Mr.  Wurth, 
however,  was  extremely  pleased,  chuckling  and  delighting 
himself  on  every  allusion,  till  I  felt  really  uncomfortable 
about  it. 


MY   SCHOOL.  197 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

MY    SCHOOL. 

"  There's  music  in  the  forest  leaves, 
When  summer  winds  are  there." 

EARLY  in  summer,  Clemence  was  visited  by  a  missionary, 
who  was  on  a  tour  of  exploration  to  the  new  settlements, 
with  some  means  contributed  by  the  benevolent,  to  be 
bestowed  in  aid  of  public  worship  and  schools  in  the  more 
destitute  places. 

The  small  "opening,"  before  mentioned,  was  a  little 
neighborhood  of  but  five  families,  and  having  never  had 
any  schools  for  their  children,  they  received  five  dollars  from 
the  missionary,  who  applied  to  me  to  teach  for  them. 

I  consented,  and  they,  encouraged  to  greater  efforts, 
made  up  a  small  additional  sum. 

The  older  children  sometimes  attended  school  at  Cle- 
mence, and  had  done  so  the  past  winter,  for  Dr.  Emery  had 
taught  the  young  people,  assisted  by  Mary,  in  his  absence 
on  professional  duty. 

I  was  not  a  stranger  to  the  dwellers  at  Green  Briar,  and 
I  entered  upon  my  new  vocation  very  cheerfully,  "  boarding 
round  "  in  all  the  families,  all  in  log-houses  ;  in  some  the 
bare  ground  was  the  floor ;  in  some  places  I  ate  potatoes 
boiled  in  a  birch  bark  sap  trough,  and  bread  baked  in  an 


198 

open  iron  kettle  over  the  fire,  which  was  also  the  sole  utensil 
for  frying  meat,  heating  water  for  tea,  and  various  other 
purposes. 

In  one  place  the  wash-stand  was  a  barrel  covered  with 
two  pieces  of  board  not  very  closely  matched,  and  when  one 
day  at  table  a  dish  of  salt  was  wanted,  I  noticed  that  the 
supply  was  obtained  from  this  barrel. 

Still,  I  was  as  happy  in  my  little  shed  of  a  school-house 
as  the  birds  that  sang  so  merrily  around  me,  and  I  remem- 
ber to  this  day  the  names  and  faces  of  my  few  scholars. 

Mr.  Paul's  was  the  chief  family ;  they  were  of  Scotch 
extraction,  and  friends  of  the  Campbells. 

Mrs.  Paul  was  a  pious,  excellent  woman.  She  had  been 
often  at  our  house.  Her  young  people,  too,  I  frequently 
saw,  as  they  all  attended  meeting  in  Clemence.  The  oldest 
daughter  was  a  buxom  lass  of  twenty ;  the  next,  about  my 
own  age.  There  were  two  sons,  of  seventeen  and  eighteen ; 
and  five  smaller  ones,  who  were  among  my  pupils. 

Another  family  lived  quite  near,  in  a  mere  hut  of  one 
room,  but  enjoying  the  distinction  of  having  attached  to  it 
the  only  barn  in  the  neighborhood. 

In  the  rear  of  this  barn,  itself  furnishing  one  side,  was 
the  frail  tenement  of  a  school-house,  composed  of  a  few 
posts,  boards,  and  beams,  laid  together,  resting  against  the 
barn  for  support. 

The  floor  and  benches  were  of  rough  boards,  and  in  the 
side  opposite  the  rude  door  an  aperture  was  cut  for  a 
window. 

A  very  small  space  around  was  cleared  of  the  bushes 


MY    SCHOOL.  199 

and  trees,  and  closed  In  by  woods,  whose  deep  shadow 
almost  reached  the  open  door,  as  each  morning  found  me, 
with  light  step,  tracing  the  dewy  path  to  the  daily  charge 
of  my  shy  little  flock,  while  the  melody  of  countless  birds 
ceased  not  the  livelong  day. 

How  peaceful  and  quiet  were  those  long  summer  days 
cieepening  into  high  noon,  and  Fading  in  the  ruddy  west  I 

The  marvelous  loveliness  of  June  is  lovely  indeed  in  the 
pure  temperature  of  that  northern  latitude,  where  vegeta- 
tion is  so  rapid  that  its  growth  can  almost  be  discerned 
from  hour  to  hour. 

The  first  tender  freshness  of  Nature's  green  robe  is 
everywhere  enchanting  in  its  sweet  budding  luxuriance,  its 
balmy  odors,  and  the  subtle  harmonies  of  a  thousand 
blended  influences. 

Then,  too,  the  long,  soft  twilight — for  there  scarcely  four 
out  of  the  twenty-four  hours  are  not  tinged  with  some  faint 
gleams  of  day — like  the  summer  nights  in  Norway,  where 
the  delicious  half  hour  after  sunset,  which  seems  like  the 
smile  of  earth  and  sky,  is  prolonged  throughout  the  whole 
night. 

Those  twilight  evenings — the  sweet  "  gloaming "  of  the 
Scotch — devoted  to  recreation  and  rest !  their  retrospect  is 
bright,  yet  mingled  with  regrets. 

To  my  pleasure-loving  youth,  nothing  came  amiss  ;  and 
when  the  young  Pauls  and  some  others  besought  me  to 
teach  them  to  dance,  I  agreed  to  their  plan — nothing  loth. 

Dancing  had  been  a  very  common  amusement  with  the 
young  people  of  Wayland,  the  comparatively  few  pious 


200  HOME. 

parents  permitting  it  in  their  children  :  even  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  Mr.  Rice,  our  minister,  partook  with  us  in  all 
our  gaiety. 

Perhaps  some  will  recollect  the  time  when  there  seemed 
to  prevail,  in  New  England,  a  general  conformity  to  the 
world ;  even  Christians  of  undoubted  piety,  not  heeding  the 
command,  "  Come  ye  out  from  among  them,  and  be  ye 
separate." 

In  consequence,  there  was  much  lack  of  earnest,  active 
piety  ;  the  distinctive  doctrines  of  religion  were  scarcely 
recognized,  either  in  profession  or  practice. 

It  was  usual  then,  upon  marriage,  or  when  somewhat  past 
the  hey-day  of  youth,  to  join  the  church,  as  a  decent  and 
proper  show  of  respect  for  religion,  with  little  said  regard- 
ing the  momentous  question  whether  the  soul  had  indeed 
"  passed  from  death  into  life." 

I  had  always  danced  in  Wayland,  and  saw  no  harm  in 
doing  so  in  Green  Briar.  There  was  not  convenient  space 
in  the  house,  so  the  lads  brought  some  boards,  used  for 
threshing,  and  made  a  floor  upon  the  green  grass.  There, 
evening  after  evening,  in  the  open  air,  under  the  sunset  sky, 
we  plied  our  nimble  feet  in  this  animating  pastime,  till  the 
stars  twinkled,  while  the  "old  folks"  looked  out  slily  upon 
our  sport  from  some  obscure  corner. 

I  well  knew,  though  I  did  not  heed  it  then,  that  good 
Mrs.  Paul  was  grieved  in  her  heart  because  of  our  dancing  ; 
her  children  overruled  her  objections,  but  her  conscience 
was  troubled  that  the  inmates  of  her  family  should  engage 
in  this  vain  amusement.  Her  scruples  should  have  been 


.  MY   SCHOOL.  201 

respected  by  me,  and  I  have  ever  since  been  pained  by  the 
remembrance  of  this  portion  of  my  giddy,  thoughtless  youth. 

The  period  of  childhood  and  youth  is  generally  deemed 
the  most  favored  and  happy  portion  of  man's  life,  and  many 
a  fond  sigh  of  regret  is  cast  back  upon  those  early  years. 

Childhood  is,  indeed,  most  lovely  and  gladsome,  the  bright 
impersonation  of  innocence  and  love. 

The  golden  morn  of  youth  is,  oh,  how  precious  1  as  the 
germ  and  type  of  all  after  life.  But  childhood,  with  its 
smiles  and  tears,  who  would  recall  ?  Its  sunny  gaiety  is 
like  the  frisking  of  lambs  on  the  lea,  or  the  gambols  of  the 
playful  kitten — the  soul  is  not  there. 

And  youth,  free-hearted,  joyous  youth — its  memory  is, 
indeed,  like  the  glad  murmur  of  the  running  brook,  like  the 
gushing  melody  of  the  birds  in  spring — but  is  happiness 
found  there  ? 

That  is  a  fountain  still  and  deep,  welling  up  from  the  in- 
most heart,  and  comes  only  with  the  matured  intellect,  with 
the  full  flow  of  the  tried  soul,  conscious  of  its  strength — 
nay,  it  is  only  truly  attained  when  the  chastened  spirit  finds 
its  infinite  treasure  in  its  Almighty  Creator. 

The  memories  of  youth  are,  with  most,  shaded  by  the  sor- 
rowful recollection  of  follies  committed,  golden  opportunities 
wasted,  willful  errors,  ignorance,  and  waywardness. 

So  true  it  is,  that  memory  has  both  its  lights  and  its 
shadows,  and  with  the  bright  train  of  the  one  comes  ever, 
alas  1  the  sad  procession  of  the  other  1 


202  HOME.  , 

• 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

"THE  HUE  OF  DEATH  is  CAST  O'ER  EVERYTHING." 

SAD  scenes  awaited  us  in  the  succeeding  autumn. 

The  summer  had  been  extremely  warm,  with  great 
drought,  and  a  malignant  fever  prevailed. 

Dr.  Emery  was  hurried  from  patient  to  patient,  often  to 
a  distance  of  several  miles,  riding  all  day  and  all  night, 
returning  home  for  a  hasty  meal,  or  to  snatch  a  few  minutes' 
repose. 

In  one  case  he  went  twenty  miles,  over  wretched  roads, 
being  gone  from  home  nearly  a  week. 

At  length,  a  family  of  six  were  all  sick  at  the  same  time, 
having  the  fever  in  different  stages. 

The  disease  was  deemed  contagious,  and  a  great  panic 
prevailed,  mastering  for  the  time  all  impulses  of  humanity  in 
the  one  instinct  of  self-preservation. 

Scarce  anyone  could  be  found  willing  to  watch  by  night, 
or  even  attend  upon  the  sick  by  day,  and  Dr.  Emery,  faith- 
ful to  his  charge,  was  both  nurse  and  doctor  to  his  patients. 
He  stayed  with  them  day  after  day,  till,  by  the  blessing  of 
God  on  his  skill  and  unceasing  exertions,  all  were  convales- 
cent ;  then,  utterly  overcome,  he  was  himself  prostrated 
by  the  fever. 

Mary  was  alarmed,  and  sent  at  once  to  Bangor  for  medi- 


THE  HUE  OF  DEATH  IS  CAST  OVER  EVERYTHING.  203 

cal  aid  ;  two  physicians  came,  but,  alas  !  their  utmost  skill 
could  not  avail  ;  his  exhausted  frame  was  the  easy  prey  of 
disease.  He  rapidly  sunk  under  it,  and  his  life  was  the 
price  of  his  generous  devotion  to  others. 

He  died  at  the  post  of  duty,  a  brave,  unflinching  soldier  ! 

My  poor  sister  !  She  made  no  loud  demonstrations  of 
her  sorrow  ;  she  meekly  bowed  her  head  to  the  stroke,  and 
in  the  secret  silence  of  her  soul  sought  consolation  at  a  Fa- 
ther's hand.  He  who  had  smitten,  He  alone  could  heal. 

Our  neighbors  were  struck  with  double  terror  to  see  their 
physician  and  helper  fall  before  the  Destroyer,  and  even  at 
the  funeral,  scarcely  were  there  enough  collected  to  bear  his 
beloved  remains  to  their  last  resting-place. 

But  we  heeded  little  then  that  we  were  left  almost  alone 
in  our  affliction  ;  the  one  great  grief  swallowed  all  smaller 
ones.  When  the  panic  of  fear  had  subsided,  proofs  were 
not  wanting  of  the  most  tender  and  deep  feeling  for  our  be- 
reavement. Many  tears  were  shed  with  us,  and  for  us — 
tears  of  sorrow  for  the  dead — tears  of  affectionate  sympathy 
with  the  living. 

Mr.  Campbell,  as  soon  as  he  was  able,  for  he,  too,  had 
been  one  of  the  sick,  acted  the  part  of  a  true  friend  towards 
ns.  Mr.  Wurth  at  once  took  upon  himself  the  care  of  the 
doctor's  business,  all  his  out-standing  accounts,  bills,  and 
liabilities  ;  managing  everything  iu  a  most  faithful  and  able 
manner. 

Our  friends  at  Bangor  sent  letters  of  condolence  and  kind 
messages  of  sympathy.  I  had  kept  up  occasional  correspon- 
dence with  my  two  friends,  Eleanor  Holies  and  Emilia 


204:  HOME. 

Woleby,  and  now  cordial  invitations  came  from  both  fami- 
lies for  Mary  and  myself  to  spend  as  much  time  with  them 
as  suited  our  convenience,  with  the  assurance  that  we  should 
be  most  welcome  to  pass  the  ensuing  winter  at  Bangor. 

But  our  thoughts  turned  to  our  own  home,  far  away, 
and  the  dear  ones  there. 

Our  father  urged  our  immediate  return  "  to  those,"  he 
said,  "  who  shared  all  oar  griefs,  and  who  would  strive,  by 
the  cares  of  love,  to  lighten  them." 

Mary's  stricken  heart  yearned  for  her  childhood's  home, 
and  its  comforting  endearments,  but  difficulties  were  in  her 
way.  It  was  now  too  late  for  a  passage  by  water,  and  to 
return  by  land  was  a  journey,  at  best,  long  and  expensive, 
and  that,  from  the  state  of  the  roads,  could  only  be  per- 
formed in  winter  by  sleighing.  There  was  then  no  stage 
east  from  Portland,  and  the  expense  of  hiring  private  con- 
veyance, with  proper  attendance,  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

Dr.  Emery  had  possessed  nothing  but  a  thorough  know- 
ledge of  his  profession  ;  free-hearted  and  generous  in  his 
feelings,  he  often  refrained  from  making  charges  against 
those  who  were  struggling  along  for  the  mere  necessaries  of 
life,  as  was  the  case  with  many  in  that  region. 

Yet  his  practice  was  so  extensive,  that,  had  his  dues  been 
promptly  paid,  there  would  have  been  ample  provision  for 
our  present  wants.  The  past  season  had  been  an  unfavora- 
ble one  ;  many  were  straitened  still  more  by  sickness  ;  so 
that  some  who  had  kind  hearts  and  just  intentions  failed 
altogether  in  meeting  their  engagements.  Besides,  all  had 
been  in  the  practice  of  paying  their  doctor's  fees  in  produce 


THE  HUE  OF  DEATH  18  CAST  OVER  EVERYTHING.  205 

from  their  farms,  bat  now  it  was  needful  that  the  arrears 
should  be  paid  in  money.  "Where  all  are  poor  and  strug- 
gling together,  the  selfish  instincts  are  constantly  excited, 
and  long-continued  poverty  is  apt  to  blunt  the  edge  of  the 
nobler  feelings  of  humanity — the  just,  the  generous,  the 
humane. 


HOME. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A.    WAY    PROVIDED. 

IT  was  no  "mall  addition  to  Mary's  troubles,  that  her 
situation  was  so  perplexing,  it  being  utterly  impossible  to 
collect  a  sum  sufficient  to  defray  the  expenses  of  our  return 
home. 

But  a  kind  Providence  sent  relief,  when  least  expected. 
Mr.  Campbell  came  one  day  to  inform  us  that  he  intended 
going  in  his  own  sleigh  to  New  Hampshire,  to  visit  his 
brother,  and  that  he  could  carry  one  of  us  as  far  as  that  on 
our  way  home  ;  at  the  same  time  inviting  the  other  to 
remain  at  his  house  till  the  following  spring. 

He  advised  Mary  to  stay,  alleging  that  her  affairs  might 
then  be  better  arranged.  Dr.  Emery  had  purchased  some 
land,  just  before  his  death,  and  he  thought  that  might  be 
sold  the  ensuing  spring,  and  her  other  bills  collected. 

I  saw  the  change  that  passed  over  Mary's  face,  at  this 
proposal ;  I  saw  the  struggle  in  her  mind,  and  felt  that  she 
needed  the  ministrations  of  home — the  kind,  cheering  voices 
of  kindred — to  soothe >ber  wounded  spirit. 

I  resolved,  at  once,  to  be  the  one  to  stay ;  and  I  urged 
so  many  cogent  reasons  in  favor  of  it,  that  so  it  was 
decided. 

With  the  first  deep  fall  of  snow  Mary  went,  taking  with 


A   WAY   PEOVIDED.  207 

her  the  very  few  things  that  could  be  packed  into  the 
sleigh.  Her  journey  was  favorable,  and  immediately  after 
her  arrival  at  home,  a  letter  was  sent  me  from  them  all,  full 
of  love,  counsel,  and  cheering  encouragement. 

Captain  Stephens,  of  Bangor,  agreed  to  take  charge  of 
the  remainder  of  our  effects,  and  ship  them  to  Boston. 
Maggy  aided  me  in  preparing  the  various  articles  for  trans- 
portation by  sleighing  to  Bangor. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  been  in  the  house  since  Mary 
left  it,  for  it  seemed  so  lonely,  I  could  not  bear  to  enter  it. 

The  day  was  dreary  ;  the  wind  came  in  gusts  against  the 
bare  windows  ;  snow  fell  at  intervals  from  the  sullen  clouds; 
a  sense  of  desolation  came  over  me,  and  it  required  all  my 
self-command  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

Mr.  Wurth  was  there  too,  assisting  us  in  removing  and 
arranging.  I  was  oppressed  with  his  kindness,  and  longed 
to  speak  of  it,  but  could  not  trust  myself  to  talk,  lest  the 
flood-gate  of  tears  should  be  opened.  I  almost  wished  I 
could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  repay  him  in  the  way  he  desired. 

At  length  all  was  packed,  except  Mary's  bureau,  which, 
it  being  inconvenient  to  remove,  I  requested  Mr.  Wurth  to 
keep  for  himself.  He  was  at  first  unwilling,  and  said  sadly, 
as  we  were  standing  together,  "  I  do  not  want  it ;  I  shall 
have  no  use  for  it,"  then  sinking  his  voice  lower,  "  If  you 
would  but  take  possession  here,  accept  the  house  and  its 
owner ;  it  is  all  I  would  ask  in  this  world  1" 

I  felt,  in  the  depths  of  my  heart,  that  I  was  not  worthy 
of  such  regard  from  him.  I  told  him  so,  amid  raining  tears; 
called  myself  foolish  and  ungrateful,  and  spoke  with  earnest 


208  HOME. 

sincerity  of  Maggy's  loveliness  and  worth  of  character.  I 
know  not  why,  but  I  had  a  feeling  that  she  would  not  refuse 
him,  would  he  but  appreciate  her  many  excellences,  and 
seek  her  favor.  He  did  not  reply.  We  soon  separated,  and 
I  only  saw  him  once  afterwards.  But  my  instincts  were 
not  at  fault ;  Maggy  eventually  became  his  wife. 


BETT7RN  TO  BANGOR.  209 

CHAPTER  XXXYI. 

RETURN   TO    BAN60R. 

ABOUT  mid-winter,  I  accepted  the  invitation  of  my  Bangor 
friends,  though  with  some  reluctance,  for  I  longed  for  seclu- 
sion, and  shrunk  from  mixing  in  company. 

At  Mr.  Bolles's,  I  knew  I  should  be  in  the  midst  of 
gaieties  and  excitement,  and  I  had  no  longer  any  heart  for 
such  scenes.  The  various  sad  experiences  of  the  last  few 
months — my  loneliness — all  wrought  a  total  change  in  me. 

Dr.  Emery's  death  was  an  ever-present  reality  to  my 
mind.  He  was  gone — he  had  made  the  fearful  plunge — but 
whither? 

This  awful  glimpse  into  the  unseen  world  greatly  affected 
my  spirits  ;  all  else  seemed  vague,  unreal,  and  of  no  import- 
ance. The  Campbells  thought  me  low  spirited,  and  advised 
my  going  to  Bangor,  that  I  might  have  change  of  scene, 
and  some  amusement. 

Instead  of  that,  most  happy  would  it  have  been,  if  my 
softened  feelings  and  salutary  seriousness  had  been  cher- 
ished by  fitting  influences^  and  that  the  tide  of  worldly 
pleasure  and  vanity  might  then  have  been  rolled  back. 

I  was  drawn  into  the  giddy  round,  at  first  reluctantly,  in 
compliance  with  custom,  and  to  avoid  remark,  often  with  a 
conscience  ill  at  ease  ;  but  company,  and  flattering  atten- 
tions, had  their  influence. 


210  HOME. 

I  found  that  the  past  year  had  made  great  changes  in 
this  thriving  place  ;  the  number  of  dwellings  was  more 
than  doubled,  new  stores  were  added,  streets  opeued,  and 
there  was  great  increase  of  business,  as  well  as  of  fashion 
and  gaiety. 

I  was  soon  noticed  as  a  pretty  dancer;  and  was  quite 
sought  after  at  all  the  parties.  On  one  occasion,  at  a  gay 
gathering,  one  of  the  toasts  given  was,  "  To  the  lass  of 
Clemence."  How  confused  I  was  1  I  scarcely  knew  where 
I  was  or  what  to  do  ;  and  my  head  was  actually  dizzy  as  I 
caught  the  word  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

It  must  have  been  by  mere  accident  or  caprice  that  I 
received  so  much  attention  at  this  time  ;  there  was  nothing 
in  me  to  call  it  forth  ;  there  must  have  been  much  which 
needed  to  be  excused,  on  the  ground  of  my  youth,  timidity, 
and  inexperience.  My  appointments  in  dress,  too,  though  I 
thought  little  about  it  then,  must  have  been  meagre  enough, 
for  my  means  were  literally  nothing 

I  remember  once,  when  returning  late  from  some  walk  or 
visit,  one  of  my  shoes  was  lost  by  an  inadvertent  step  ;  the 
next  morning  a  packet  of  shoes  was  brought  me  that  I 
might  choose  from  them  a  good  fit  ;  and  I  took  them,  sim- 
ply, without  any  of  the  scruples  of  delicacy  I  might  have 
felt  a  few  years  later,  in  such  a  case.  No  doubt  I  needed 
them,  for  I  had  little  or  no  money  ;  indeed,  I  scarcely  recol- 
lect having  any  during  this  period. 

Among  the  boarders  at  Mr.  Bolles's  was  an  English  sea- 
captain — Captain  Hamlet. 

His  vessel  had  been  accidentally  frozen  in.  late  in  the  pre- 


EETURN   TO   BANGOE.  211 

ceding  fall,  and  he,  consequently,  spent  the  winter  in  Bau- 
gor,  amusing  himself  as  best  he  could.  He  was  somewhat 
past  his  youth,  tall,  rather  haughty  in  his  bearing,  but  per- 
fectly well-bred,  very  fond  of'  gay  scenes,  and  quite  chival- 
rous in  his  gallantry  and  polite  attentions  to  ladies. 

I  saw  little  of  him  except  in  company,  for,  being  quite  at 
home  at  Mr.  Bolles',  I  was  in  any  part  of  the  house  with 
Eleanor,  seldom  going  to  the  public  table  with  the  numerous 
boarders. 

After  a  time  he  began  to  distinguish  me  with  his  notice, 
and  finally,  when  he  chanced  to  encounter  me  alone — for 
Eleanor  and  I  were  seldom  apart — he  asked  me  if  I  would 
be  his  wife,  and  go  out  to  Liverpool  with  him. 

"  I  want  to  show  my  mother  what  America  can  produce," 
said  he,  protesting,  as  I  hurriedly  made  my  escape,  that 
his  "  intentions  were  honorable." 

I  do  not  recollect  that  I  made  any  reply  of  any  sort ;  I 
only  remember  feeling  very  much  frightened  and  very 
foolish. 

However,  in  tUis  instance  at  least,  my  "  gaucherie"  served 
me  in  as  good  turn  as  the  most  approved  rules  for  behavior 
in  such  cases.  I  kept  out  of  his  way,  never  even  speaking 
with  him  again,  though  I  had  a  high  opinion  of  him  as  an 
accomplished  gentleman,  and  was  flattered  by  his  admira- 
tion. 

It  was  well  for  me  that  my  fancy  was  not  caught,  for 
some  after  developments  of  his  character  proved  that  neither 
his  honor  nor  his  principles  would  have  been  a  safeguard  for 
my  inexperience.  He  made  high  pretensions,  however  ;  I  saw 


212  HOME. 

him  once,  in  the  midst  of  a  large  party,  suddenly  march 
across  the  room,  with  a  flushed  face,  and  demand  the  import 
of  a  whisper  between  two  young  men,  who  thus  violated  the 
rules  of  good  breeding  by  some  trivial  remark. 

A  part  of  my  time  was  spent  at  Mr.  Woleby's  ;  there  I 
was  much  more  retired,  and,  as  I  now  know,  in  a  situation 
much  more  proper  and  safe  for  an  unprotected  young  girl. 
But  Eleanor  Bolles  was  quite  pertinacious  in  exacting  my 
stay  with  her  ;  and  in  her  father's  open  house  I  felt  more  at 
home,  less  as  a  guest  receiving  hospitality  from  comparative 
strangers. 

My  heart  beats  with  gratitude  in  recollecting  the  gene- 
rous, motherly  kindness  of  Mrs.  Woleby  to  a  poor  stranger. 

Many  times  have  I  looked  back  with  astonishment,  as 
well  as  with  deep,  thankful  reverence,  that  my  Heavenly 
Father  so  provided  for  my  need,  and  put  it  into  the  heart  of 
so  many  to  show  me  kindness. 

Mrs.  Woleby  ever  welcomed  me  to  her  house  ;  she  often 
called  me  daughter,  and  it  was  with  the  feelings  of  a  Chris- 
tian mother  that  she  exercised  a  guardian  care  over  me. 

Her  gentle  Emilia  was  a  favorite  with  all. 

Unlike  some  who  are  caressed  and  admired  abroad,  and 
called  sweet,  obliging  girls,  but  who  are  at  home  selfish, 
indolent,  and  ill-humored,  her  good  and  lovely  character 
shone  brightest  there.  She  was  kindly  attentive  to  her  pa- 
rents, and  always  ready  to  minister  to  another's  happiness, 
not  with  professions  and  promises,  whose  fulfillment  was 
ever  in  the  future,  "  as  the  manner  of  some  is." 

There  was  one  boarder  at  Mr.  Woleby's  ;  a  young  law- 


RETURN   TO    BANGOB.  213 

yer,  who  chose  a  more  retired,  or,  perhaps,  a  more  exclusive 
residence  than  at  Mr.  Bolles's,  the  usual  resort  of  the  young 
men  of  the  place.  This  young  man,  Otis  Gibbs,  was  called 
peculiar  ;  he  was  so,  in  his  personal  appearance  at  least, 
being  shorter  than  most  women,  with  a  very  large,  white 
face,  hb  shoulders  broad  and  high,  while  his  lower  limbs 
were  so  slender  that  it  apparently  required  an  effort  to 
maintain  the  centre  of  gravity. 

He  was  extremely  nervous  and  excitable,  and  often  have 
I  seen  him,  at  a  sudden  meeting  or  at  an  unexpected  occur- 
rence, reel  and  totter  from  side  to  side,  with  difficulty  pre- 
serving his  equilibrium. 

Yet  he  was  a  young  man  of  superior  mind  and  excellent 
character,  albeit  deformed  by  various  littlenesses,  set  notions, 
and  weak  points  of  temper. 

He  aspired  to  Emilia's  favor,  and  would  have  won  it,  per- 
haps, could  he  have  condescended  to  mingle  more  freely 
with  others,  and  to  unbend  from  his  reserve  and  inflexi- 
bility. 

At  least,  my  reflections  convinced  me  that  his  true  worth 
and  fine  qualities,  if  but  unfolded  in  fair  light  to  the  gentle, 
considerate  girl,  would  have  eclipsed  in  her  mind  any  lack 
of  mere  external  attractions.  Certain  I  am  that  we  both 
did  him  great  injustice  ;  I,  especially,  made  him  the  subject 
of  many  a  jest. 

He  said  of  me,  that  "  he  should  like  me  well  enough,  if  I 
•was  not  always  either  laughing  or  singing  " — over  which 
remark  we  had  much  girlish  merriment. 

Could  he  have  seen  me  a  few  years  later,  he  would  pro- 


214:  HOME. 

bably  have  formed  a  very  different  estimate  of  my  charac- 
ter. 

My  friend  Emilia  some  years  after  this  married  a  gallant 
sea-captain,  and  after  a  few  brief  years  of  domestic  happi- 
ness, was  successively  bereft  of  her  husband  and  four  chil- 
dren. 

It  was  just  before  the  death  of  the  fourth,  a  lovely  and 
accomplished  girl  of  eighteen,  that  we  met  again,  for  the 
first  time  since  these  scenes  of  our  youth  just  narrated.  It 
was  after  a  lapse  of  thirty  years— we  had  each  been  tried 
and  shaken  by  deep  affliction — we  had  each  fixed  our  hopes 
and  affections  beyond  this  world. 

We  spent  together  one  precious  day — a  day  of  tearful 
reminiscence — of  mutual  experience — gratefully  recognizing 
the  hand  of  our  Heavenly  Father  in  all  the  dealings  of  His 
providence. 

"  For  who  the  backward  path  hath  scanned, 
But  blessed  his  Father's  guiding  hand." 

Emilia  has  long  since  passed  to  her  home  in  the  skies. 

Her  mother,  the  last  remnant  of  the  once  flourishing, 
family,  died  a  short  time  since,  full  of  years  and  honors, 
having  lived  to  see  the  rude  settlement  around  her  become 
a  large,  thriving,  and  beautiful  city. 

The  homestead,  though  changed,  and  occupied  by  stran- 
gers, still  stands  upon  i£s  site,  overlooking  the  Kenduskeag, 
now  hidden  from  view,  not  as  of  yore  by  thick  trees,  but  by 
long  blocks  of  lofty  dwellings,  stores,  bridges,  wharves — all 
around  instinct  with  the  life  and  stir  of  business. 


NEW   FRIEITO8.  215 


CHAPTER  XXXYII. 

NEW   FRIENDS. 

IT  was  not  long  before  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  in  the 
Penobscot,  that  several  of  us  took  an  excursion  up  the  river 
some  six  or  seven  miles,  to  visit  at  a  Colonel  Butler's. 

The  ride  was  not  without  danger,  for  though  the  trodden 
track  on  the  ice  was  still  safe,  the  least  deviation  from  it 
might  lead  into  thin  places  of  greater  or  less  extent,  and 
horses  and  riders  be  precipitated  at  once  into  deep  water. 

We  were  to  return  by  moonlight;  but  just  as  night  came 
on,  snow  began  to  fall,  soon  obscuring  the  path  so  as  to 
have  required  the  utmost  caution  to  keep  in  the  track, 
even  by  daylight,  and  a  return  by  night  was  not  to  be 
thought  of. 

To  accommodate  ten  or  eleven  guests,  called  for  strenuous 
exertions  on  the  part  of  our  hospitable  host  and  hostess. 
The  house  was  a  common-sized  cottage.  There  was  a 
square  entry  in  front,  with  a  room  on  either  side,  one  of 
them  quite  narrow,  and  containing  the  "  spare  bed."  This, 
with  two  small  bedrooms  and  a  garret,  comprised  all  the 
sleeping  apartments. 

The  family  consisted  of  father  and  mother,  a  hired  man, 
three  grown-up  daughters,  and  a  group  of  younger  children. 

How  were  the  eleven  guests  to  be  provided  for  ? 

No  difficulty  at   all !     The   utmost   hilarity  and  good 


210.  ; 

humor  reigned  among  all  parties,  and  the  most  thorough 
pleasure  was  taken  in  pairing  off  the  company,  making 
numerous  partitions,  with  the  aid  of  forks  and  nails,  and 
plenty  of  coverlets  and  blankets  ;  the  large  common  room 
being  thus  divided  into  four  curtained  compartments. 

The  beds  were  then  shifted  and  shaken,  separated  and 
multiplied  to  the  best  possible  advantage ;  all  lending  a 
helping  hand,  amid  much  mirth,  and  the  cracking  of  jokes, 
greatly  enhancing  the  enjoyment  of  both  visitors  and  hosts. 

But  this  was  not  all  the  pleasure,  as  respects  myself,  for 
Colonel  Butler  taking  occasion  to  inquire  about  my  friends 
and  home,  I  was  both  surprised  and  delighted  to  find 
that  he  had  been  an  old  neighbor  and  friend  of  my  own 
mother. 

He,  on  his  part,  was  equally  well  pleased  to  see  the  child, 
as  he  said,  of  his  fair  schoolmate,  Bessy  Lyle,  and  he  plied 
me  with  questions  about  my  uncles  and  aunts,  of  whom  for 
many  years  he  had  lost  all  knowledge. 

"  The  last  time  I  saw  your  mother,"  said  he,  "  she  was 
just  about  your  age  ;  you  resemble  her  some,  but  she  was 
handsomer  than  you  are.  Oh,"  added  he,  smiling,  "you 
look  well  enough.  I  dare  say  you  are  vain  of  your  good 
looks  now ;  but  Anna  and  Bessy  Lyle  were  two  of  the  finest 
girls  on  Roxbury  street." 

"  Ah  !"  said  he,  "  it  was  a  sad  time  for  that  family  when 
the  father  died  ;  your  grandfather,  I  mean.  Both  parents 
were  taken  within  a  few  months,  and  in  the  prime  of  life, 
too,  for  he  was  not  more  than  forty-five  years  old  ;  not 
older  than  I  am  now.  He  died  in  his  full  strength— a 


NEW   FBIEOT>8.  217 

portly,  handsome  man — and  he  looked,  in  his  coffin,  just  as 
if  he  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  full  flush  of  health." 

Colonel  Butler  informed  me  of  many  particulars  respect- 
ing my  grandparents  and  their  children  ;  made  minute 
inquiries  concerning  the  present  situation  of  each,  and  of  my 
own  brothers  and  sisters,  as  well  as  the  time  and  circum- 
stances of  my  mother's  death. 

He  regretted  much  that  he  had  not  known  Mary  and 
Dr.  Emery  ;  the  news  of  the  sudden  death  of  the  doctor 
had  reached  him,  "  but  I  little  thought,"  said  he,  "  that  hia 
wife  was  the  daughter  of  my  old  friend  Bessy  Lyle." 

He  interested  himself  in  my  welfare,  and  warmly  invited 
me  to  make  his  house  my  home,  until  I  returned  to  my 
friends  in  Massachusetts. 

I  gladly  accepted  his  proffered  kindness.  He  came  for 
me,  in  a  few  days,  and  I  was  quietly  established  in  his 
pleasant  but  lonely  cottage  home,  close  upon  the  bank  of 
the  dark  and  rapid  Penobscot. 

Here  I  assisted  the  daughters  occasionally  in  their  house- 
hold employments,  and  enjoyed  many  an  hour  with  them  in 
paddling  up  or  down  the  river,  in  a  little  open  boat  or 
canoe,  which  I  learned  to  manage  with  ease. 

But  their  house  was  overshadowed  with  a  great  sorrow, 
during  my  stay  there.  That  insidious  destroyer  of  the 
young  and  lovely,  Consumption,  laid  his  inexorable  grasp 
upon  the  second  and  fairest  of  the  daughters  ;  he  placed  his 
mark  upon  her  blooming  cheek,  and  at  his  icy  touch  the 
wan  girl  faded  away  like  an  April  snow. 

The  family  were  long  blind  to  the  progress  of  disease, 
10 


218  HOME. 

unwilling  to  admit  the  possibility  of  danger,  and  even  to  the 
last  they  never  mentioned  death  in  her  presence,  or  inti- 
mated their  fears  on  her  account.  They  were  not  religious 
people — seemed  never  to  think  of  God,  or  the  eternal 
world. 

I  was  not  utterly  thoughtless  ;  the  voice  of  conscience 
was  not  altogether  silent  within  me.  I  knew  that  I  had  no 
interest  in  the  Saviour's  pardoning  mercy.  I  had  sought 
none,  nor  cared  to  seek  reconciliation  with  God.  I  was 
deferring  the  matter. 

How  wonderful  the  rich  mercy  of  my  Heavenly  Father, 
that  I  was  not  left  to  my  own  chosen  way  !  But  though 
so  regardless  of  my  own  best  good,  I  was  deeply  anxious 
that  poor  Celia  should  realize  her  danger,  and  seek  the 
salvation  of  her  soul,  ere  it  should  be  too  late. 

My  lips  were  sealed  ;  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  speak 
upon  the  subject,  especially  before  the  family;  yet,  when- 
ever I  was  left  alone  with  her,  I  would  have  my  Bible  with 
me  in  the  room,  to  read  in,  if  she  desired  it,  till,  by  a  sort 
of  tacit  consent,  that  became  the  only  reading  when  she 
was  left  in  my  charge. 

She  would  sit  reclining  on  the  bed,  propped  up  by 
pillows,  her  bright,  glassy  eyes  fixed  on  mine,  as  I  read  to 
her  portions  that  I  selected ;  answering  her  questions,  and 
explaining  the  meaning  in  a  manner  surprising  to  myself, 
and  as  I  could  not  have  done,  had  I  not,  from  early  child- 
hood, heard  the  Bible  read,  and  been  instructed  in  its 
truths,  by  my  father. 

The  first  day  of  May  was  the  Sabbath.     I  do  not  recol- 


NEW   FRIENDS.  219 

lect  how  it  happened,  bat  I  was  alone  with  her  most  of  the 
day.  I  read  to  her  several  of  the  last  chapters  of  the 
Book  of  Revelation — a  singular  selection  for  one  so  ignorant 
as  myself;  yet  I  was  powerfully  impressed  by  it — and  as 
we  conversed  earnestly  upon  the  mysterious  import  of  that 
sublime  portion  of  Holy  Writ,  we  were  both  in  tears. 

At  length  she  said,  in  a  subdued  tone,  *"  You  have  done 
me  a  great  deal  of  good  since  you  have  been  here." 

I  could  not  speak  ;  and  as  some  of  the  family  now  came 
into  the  room,  I  walked  out  by  myself,  desiring  to  be  alone. 
I  passed  along  the  river's  bank,  through  a  clump  of  cedar 
trees  and  bushes,  where  all  seemed  a  lonely  wild — for  there 
w-as  neither  house  nor  living  object  in  sight — indulging  the 
mood  of  my  feelings  ;  sad,  yet  soothed. 

The  wood-thrush  whistled  ;  the  frogs  croaked  ;  the  open 
land  had  a  drab  and  cadaverous  complexion  ;  the  mottled 
hue  of  the  wooded  wilderness  around  me,  and  across  the 
river  the  dark  tops  of  the  firs,  tinged  wiih  the  yellow-greeii 
of  the  beech  and  the  juniper's  red-barked  boughs  ;  the  pop- 
lars' white  trunks  and  spangled  limbs  spotting  the  whole 
with  a  faint  glare  ;  while  the  jetty  black,  glittering  stream, 
like  a  huge  serpent,  crawled  along  at  the  foot  of  .the  whole. 
All  this,  seen  through  thin  clouds  of  mist  as  a  veil,  had  a 
softened,  indescribable  effect.  My  thoughts  reverted  to 
Dr.  Emery  and  his  lonely  grave — to  myself,  away  from  my 
home,  and  dependent  on  the  hospitality  of  strangers — them, 
to  poor  Celia,  Just  my  own  age,  sinking  into  an  early  grave! 
for  I  knew  she  could  not  live,  though  she  had  for  a  day  or 
two  seemed  better,  and  quite  free  from  pain. 


220  HOME. 

How  strange  appeared  now  my  former  thoughtlessness 
and  light-hearted  gaiety  1  how  mad  and  foolish  to  live  on, 
heedless  of  death  and  the  dread  realities  of  another  world  1 

Resolutions  were  formed,  and  thoughts  and  feelings 
registered,  that  I  was  sure  would  not  be  again  disregarded  ; 
but  I  knew  not  my  own  strength,  or  rather  my  own  weak- 
ness, against  the  power  of  sin  in  the  heart,  and  the  fascina- 
tions of  the  world. 

I  returned  to  the  house,  to  find  all  in  confusion  and 
wildest  sorrow — Celia  was  gone  ! 

She  had  been  taken  with  a  fit  of  coughing,  not  worse 
than  others,  but  had  suddenly  fallen  back  and  died,  without 
a  parting  word  or  look. 

I  must  not  dwell  on  the  sad  scenes  that  followed — on  the 
pall  and  gloom  of  burial — on  the  void  that  is  felt  in  a  house 
when  the  pleasant  voice  and  sweet  smile,  so  like  sunshine  to 
the  heart,  are  quenched  in  the  silence  and  darkness  of  the 
grave. 

What  can  cheer  the  mourner's  heart,  if  the  peace  of 
religion  be  wanting  ? 


GOING  HOME.  221 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

GOING   HOME. 

THE  ensuing  summer  I  was  engaged,  by  Col.  Butler's 
means,  as  teacher  of  the  school  in  his  neighborhood,  the 
avails  of  which  were  most  acceptable. 

I  visited  Clemence,  too,  once  more  ;  Mr.  Wurth  came  for 
me  at  the  instigation  of  Maggy.  But  it  was  a  painful  visit, 
awakening  sad  associations,  and  was  the  source  of  regret 
rather  than  of  pleasure. 

The  Mudges  were  invited  by  Maggy  to  meet  me  at  her 
father's.  Miss  Telia  seemed  more  than  ever  sarcastic,  and 
even  unkind.  Mr.  Wurth  was  then  a  boarder  with  them, 
aud  I  think  she  was  vexed  that  I  came  there  again,  fearing 
the  defeat  of  her  own  designs. 

I  bore,  without  appearing  to  notice  them,  several  cutting 
retorts  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  till  at  length  she 
said  something  which  quite  broke  down  my  self-command, 
and  I  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  weeping.  Nor 
could  1  get  over  it,  but  was  obliged  to  leave  the  room, 
filling  the  family  with  concern,  troubling  Maggy  extremely, 
and  spoiling  the  pleasure  of  all. 

The  next  day  I  returned,  taking  a  long  farewell  of  my 
kind  friends  the  Campbells.  With  Maggy  I  kept  up  an 
occasional  correspondence,  till  some  time  after  she  became 


the  wife  of  Mr.  Wurth  ;  but  our  paths  in  life  have  been 
widely  severed.  Once  again  we  met,  but  it  was  not  until 
both  had  passed  from  the  spring-time  to  the  autumn  of 
life. 

At  the  close  of  my  school,  in  accordance  with  my  earnest 
desire,  Col.  Butler,  and  my  Bangor  friends,  secured  a  pas- 
sage for  me  to  Boston,  with  Captain  Gilpy,  whose  trusty 
and  excellent  character  was  well  known. 

At  first  I  was  the  only  female  on  board,  but  the  captain's 
family  residence  being  upon  one  of  the  small  islands  in  the 
bay,  he  anchored  his  little  vessel,  and  spent  the  first  night 
on  shore,  taking  me  with  him  to  his  rock-girdled  cottage. 
The  next  morning  his  niece,  who  lived  with  them,  concluded 
to  go  with  me,  and  visit  some  friends  on  Cape  Cod. 

She  was  a  self-satisfied,  bouncing  girl,  freckled  and  red- 
haired,  and  rejoicing  in  the  euphonious  name  of  MarcyTooth- 
acher  ;  but  she  was  one  of  my  own  sex,  and  I  was  glad  of 
her  company.  I  confess  I  did  not  feel  particularly  pleased 
when  she  proposed  to  accompany  me  to  my  Uncle  Hastings's, 
in  return  for  her  uncle's  hospitality  to  me  ;  but  I  could  not 
decline  the  honor,  so,  with  some  secret  misgivings,  I  escorted 
her  to  my  uncle's  handsome  house,  and  introduced  her  as  a 
guest  to  pass  the  night.  In  addition  to  her  ungainly  person, 
she  was  coarse  and  repulsive  in  manner,  and  essentially  ver- 
dant in  everything  pertaining  to  good-breeding. 

Bessy  was  immensely  diverted  with  her,  and,  though 
treated  with  perfect  civility  while  there,  the  actions,  looks, 
and  name  of  MarcyToothacher  called  forth  many  a  witticism, 
and  became  the  standing  subject  of  raillery  and  mirth ; 


GOING   HOME.  223 

Bessy  declaring  that  I  deserved  a  premium  for  bringing 
them  such  a  natural  curiosity. 

My  cousin  was  busy  in  preparation  for  her  marriage,  soon 
to  take  place.  Aunt  Hastings  kept  me  employed  in  an- 
swering questions  and  giving  her  an  account  of  our  life 
while  we  had  been  in  Maine. 

I  had  one  day  quite  an  animated  discussion  with  Uncle 
Hastings  upon  the  character  of  those  Eastern  people.  He 
thought  them  mean  and  over-reaching  in  trade,  with  very 
lax  ideas  of  truth  and  honesty,  as  well  as  coarse  and  pro- 
fane in  their  language. 

I  warmly  defended  them  from  what  I  knew  to  be  an 
aspersion  of  their  character,  and  wondered  that  he  could  be 
so  prejudiced  and  unjust  towards  them.  I  had,  indeed,  min- 
gled with  a  refined  and  elevated  class  of  people,  far  from 
being  such  as  he  represented.  I  did  not  consider  that  I  was 
entirely  unacquainted  with  the  many  fishermen  and  low 
craftsmen  whom  he  chiefly  saw,  and  who  at  that  time  pro- 
bably fully  justified  his  opinion. 

My  stay  in  Boston  was  prolonged  two  weeks,  much 
against  my  wishes,  but  my  father  had  no  means  of  sending 
for  me,  and  could  not  leave  his  farm-work  sooner  to  come 
himself. 

Ah  !  that  was  a  joyful  meeting  with  my  dear  parent  after 
so  long  a  separation  I 

How  I  enjoyed  the  long,  quiet  ride  of  two  days,  every 
moment  bringing  me  nearer  home,  and  in  which  I  seemed  to 
have  more  close  and  affectionate  intercourse  with  my  father 
than  ordinarily  in  many  weeks. 


224  HOME. 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  my  arrival  before  home  again 
shone  out  in  its  home-like  aspect.  How  strange,  yet  familiar 
was  every  object  1 

Bessy  was  gone  to  her  husband's  home,  and  at  first  I 
missed  her.  Mary  was  there,  looking  hopeful  and  happy, 
and  as  lovely  as  ever. 

Grace  had,  perhaps,  a  slight  shade  of  dignity  superadded, 
a  sort  of  womanly  bearing  that  sat  very  becomingly  on  her. 
Hester  I  had  left  an  unformed,  dumpy  girl  of  fourteen.  She 
had  attained  the  rounded  grace  and  composed  air  of  the 
young  woman  ;  short  and  full-formed,  she  had  fair,  round 
arms,  a  pretty  neck,  and  a  face  of  clear  white  and  red, 
though  with  little  pretension  to  beauty  of  feature,  for  her 
head  was  too  large,  and  her  square,  broad  forehead  pro- 
jected over  her  light  blue  eyes,  injuring  somewhat  the  sym- 
metry of  her  face. 

Hester  was  always  in  good  humor  ;  quite  too  obliging, 
for  she  could  never  keep  anything  for  herself  that  another 
wanted.  She  was  constitutionally  timid  and  fearful,  and 
ever  ready  to  blame  herself  on  the  slightest  grounds.  I 
have  seen  her  so  agitated  during  a  high  wind  as  to  be  nearly 
convulsed,  yet  making  the  utmost  effort  to  conceal  her  suf- 
ferings, because  ashamed  of  her  want  of  self-control. 

Her  talent  at  mimicry  furnished  no  small  amusement  to 
her  friends,  and  she  was  quite  distinguished  among  the 
young  people  for  her  fine  voice  in  singing. 

The  younger  children  were  so  changed  by  the  lapse  of  two 
years,  that  I  felt  myself  quite  a  stranger  to  them. 

Willy  had  always  been  remarkably  small% ;  now  he  had 


GOING    HOME.  225 

shot  up  into  a  tall  boy,  with  a  bright  eye,  a  bold  front,  a 
ready  jest,  and  the  frequent  witty  repartee. 

Little  Rhoda,  the  youngest,  the  petted  darling  of  her 
mother,  was  the  imperious  little  queen  of  the  household. 
She  was  a  child  of  faultless  beauty,  but  capricious,  exacting, 
and  self-willed ;  not  so  much  in  natural  disposition  as 
through  over-indulgence,  and  the  ill-judged  fondness  of  her 
mother.  In  her  childhood  and  haughty  youth  she  was 
almost  disliked  by  her  sisters,  whom  she  quite  looked  down 
upon,  but  in  after  years  she  became  lovely  in  character  as  in 
person,  and  greatly  endeared  herself  to  her  family  and 
friends. 

At  eighteen  she  was  a  bride,  and  beautiful  as  a  dream. 
Queenly  grace  was  in  her  elegant  figure,  and  a  spell  of 
loveliness  in  her  fair  face. 

She  gave  her  hand  to  our  young  cousin,  Mark  Leland, 
the  son  of  Uncle  Harry  and  Aunt  Kathy,  the  same  who  in 
his  babyhood  so  won  my  childish  admiration.  He  lived  at 
some  distance  from  us,  and  when  he  carried  home  his  beau- 
tiful bride,  there  were  few  happier  men,  I  ween.  He  was 
captain  of  a  military  company,  and  a  great  favorite,  and, 
when  dressed  in  his  epaulets,  he  looked  indeed  a  fitting 
match  for  his  peerless  bride. 

High-spirited  and  generous,  he  had  an  ever-ready  purse, 
which,  unfortunately,  was  too  soon  empty,  and  Rhoda's  sub- 
sequent life  was  a  struggle  with  poverty,  sickness,  and  deep 
affliction.  She  died,  while  yet  in  her  prime,  shortly  after 
following  to  the  grave  her  only  son,  a  youth  of  great 

promise. 

10* 


226  HOME. 

Poor  girl !  she  bad,  indeed,  many  sorrows ;  but  she  nobly 
bore  them  1 

Royal,  our  brother,  next  older,  was  a  pleasant,  quick- 
witted little  fellow,  a  great  favorite  with  us  all. 

It  was  not  long  before  I  felt  quite  at  home  with  my 
brothers  and  sisters  again,  and  the  time  of  our  separation 
faded  into  the  past  like  an  uncertain  dream. 


SISTERLY  CONFIDENCE.  227 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

SISTERLY    CONFIDENCE. 

"  The  tones 

Of  a  moat  pleasant  company  of  friends 
Were  In  my  ear  but  now." 

ONE  day,  soon  after  my  return,  Mary  and  I  bad  a  long 
talk  upon  our  life  in  Maine,  and  our  friends  there,  each  one 
passing  in  review,  and  old  scenes  lived  over  again. 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Wurth,  she  acknowledged  she  was  in 
the  wrong,  in  having  felt  so  anxious  that  I  should  accept 
him. 

"I  was  trying,"  said  she,  "to  shape  out  your  course 
myself,  in  my  short-sighted  ignorance,  instead  of  viewing,  as 
I  ought,  all  events  in  the  hands  of  God.  How  wonderful 
are  the  ways  of  Providence,  and  how  little  are  we  disposed 
to  heed  them  I  Aunt  Hastings  used  to  say  that  '  we  walk 
as  if  enveloped  in  fog,  not  seeing  the  path  that  we  take;  but 
if  we  will  look  back,  and  scan  closely  the  way  we  have 
come,  we  shall  find  it  illumined  in  light.'  One  year  ago, 
how  dark  and  mysterious  seemed  the  path  my  Heavenly 
Father  was  leading  me  I  Now,  all  is  clear.  How  wonder- 
fully, too,  you  have  been  guided,  led,  and  cared  for,  in  your 
need,  while  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land  I" 

After  much  similar  conversation,  she  said,  rather  hesita- 


tingly,  "Sam  Lyman  has  rented  his  farm,  and  opened  a 
store  in  Westmead." 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  after  scanning  her  face  a  moment,  "  he 
visits  here  again,  does  he  ?"  She  nodded  assent. 

"  Where  is  the  family  ?"  said  I. 

"  Oh  1  didn't  yon  know  that  Madam  Lyman  has  married 
old  Deacon  Dudley,  of  Dudleyville  ?  He  is  quite  wealthy, 
you  know." 

"Where  are  the  sisters,  Mary  and  Abby  ?" 

"  Mary,  as  gentle  and  retiring  as  ever,  is  soon  to  be 
married  to  Samuel  Dudley,  the  deacon's  only  son.  Report 
says  that  Madam  Lyman  found  means  to  break  up  an 
attachment  between  this  son  and  a  worthy  girl  living  with 
them,  on  the  plea  that  it  was  beneath  him  to  marry  one  in 
the  position  of  '  help.'  Whether  this  is  true  or  not,  the 
match  between  him  and  Mary  is  now  decided  on,  and  she  is 
worthy  of  him.  He  is  a  fine  man,  but  some  years  her 
senior." 

"  And  Abby  ?" 

"  Abby  has  been  a  year  or  two  with  her  sister,  in  Boston, 
and  has  altered  so  much,  you  would  hardly  know  her.  She 
is  soon  to  marry  Moses  Chaplain,  and  be  the  lady-mistress 
of  that  large  house  and  farm  in  Valleybrook." 

"  What !  Moses  Chaplain,  that  used  to  be  called  the 
Western  bear  ?" 

"  The  same.  He  is  very  rich,  and  that  suits  Mrs.  Ly- 
man well.  It  is  said  she  had  some  hand  in  bringing  it 
about,  but  Sam  is  not  very  well-  pleased  with  the  match  ; 
he  thinks  Moses's  habits  are  not  good,  and  that  he  thinks 


BISTEBLY   CONFIDENCE.  229 

of  nothing  higher  than  raising  fine  cattle,  and  increasing  his 
stock,  which,  he  says,  to  make  the  main  business  of  life,  is 
quite  beneath  the  dignity  of  man." 

I  smiled  ;  for  I  recollected  Sam  Lyman's  old  way  of 
speaking,  and  thought  it  precisely  what  he  would  say  upon 
such  an  occasion. 

Mary  confessed  that  she  was  already  engaged  to  her  old 
admirer,  saying  she  could  not  help  feeling  a  grateful  regard 
for  him,  because  she  had  been  his  sole  choice,  though  she 
had  discarded  him  and  married  another  ;  and  that  her  feel- 
ings pleaded  powerfully  for  him  from  the  first  renewal  of  his 
attentions,  which  had  now  been  some  months. 

"  Do  tell  me,  Mary,"  said  I,  "  what  mother  meant  this 
morning,  when  she  told  Grace  she  was  so  nice,  nobody  was 
good  enough  for  her  ?' 

"  Oh,  she  was  referring  to  David  Hill.  He  visits  here 
sometimes,  and  though  Grace  likes  him  well  enough  as  a 
pleasant  acquaintance,  that  is  all  ;  and  mother  says  she 
holds  herself  too  high  ;  that  if  she  cannot  be  satisfied  with 
David,  and  his  nice  house  in  Yalleybrook,  she  hopes  she 
will  have  to  take  up  with  a  poorer  chance,  or  none." 

"  David  Hill  is  too  shallow  and  ignorant,"  said  I  ;  "he 
knows  nothing  beyond  his  shop,  and  some  pretty  things  to 
say  to  the  girls.  Grace  would  get  tired  of  him,  if  she  had 
to  pass  her  life  with  him." 

"  So  Grace  thinks.  She  happened  to  speak  of '  Paradise 
Lost,'  when  he  was  here  one  day,  and  he  wished  to  borrow 
it.  The  next  time  he  called,  he  brought  back  the  book, 
saying  that  'somehow  he  couldn't  get  the  hang  of  it.' 


230  HOME. 

Grace  says  she  must  be  able  to  look  up  to  a  man,  before 
she  can  have  sufficient  regard  for  him  to  marry  him.  David 
calls  only  as  a  friend,  but  he  evidently  admires  her,  and  is 
probably  hoping,  in  time,  to  gain  her  affections  in  return." 


MASTEB  HOWABD   AND   CHABLES  COKE.  231 


CHAPTER    XL. 

MASTER   HOWARD    AND   CHARLES    COKE. 
"  I  knew  there  was  a  rival  In  the  case." 

MY  object  is  to  give  a  plain,  unvarnished  recital  of  occur- 
rences as  they  took  place — a  simple,  true  picture  of  fire-side 
scenes.  Life  as  it  is,  is  made  up  of  trifles,  not  of  great 
events,  therefore  many  minute  and  trivial  details  must  enter 
into  the  story  of  this  portion  of  my  life — the  short,  remain- 
ing'period  in  which  we  were  all  together — a  band  of  sisters 
under  our  childhood's  roof. 

One,  indeed,  was  already  removed  ;  but  our  beloved 
Bessy  was  near  by,  an  hour's  walk  would  easily  bring  us  to 
her  wedded  home  ;  nor  were  our  visits  there  wont  to  be 
brief  or  seldom. 

We  were  four  happy  sisters  still  at  home,  the  youngest 
just  sixteen.  The  ensuing  season  was  one  of  much  gaiety. 

Wayland  boasted  a  numerous  and  goodly  company  of 
young  people,  and  it  was  so  easy  to  find  occasions  for  meet- 
ing together. 

There  was  the  paring  bee,  and  the  quilting,  and  then  the 
young  men  must  have  their  husking  match  at  the  gathering 
in  of  the  yellow  corn,  when  the  presence  of  their  sisters  was 
quite  essential,  to  prepare  as  well  as  to  partake  in  the  social 
cheer  of  nuts,  cakes,  and  apples.  In  winter  the  singing- 
school,  sleigh-rides,  and  parties,  filled  up  the  time. 


My  relish  for  these  scenes  of  gaiety  was  happily  kept 
somewhat  in  check  by  the  purpose  I  had  formed  to  devote 
my  time  to  improvement  in  some  branches  of  knowledge  ; 
not  only  for  my  own  benefit,  but  that  I  might  be  the  better 
fitted  for  teaching. 

Our  "  school  at  the  brook,"  as  it  was  termed  because  the 
little,  square-topped  school-house  stood  on  the  brink  of  the 
stream,  was  taught  this  season  by  a  young  gentleman,  called, 
par  eminence,  "Master  Howard,"  on  account  of  his  fine 
tact  and  success  in  teaching,  as  well  as  his  excellent  educa- 
tion. 

He  was  about  twenty-six  years  old,  tall  and  spare, 
with  very  light,  thin  hair,  and  small,  deep-set  eyes.  Re- 
fined and  gentlemanly  he  certainly  was,  yet  not  to  my  eyes 
prepossessing.  However,  he  became  a  frequent  guest  at  our 
house,  and  I  was  always  happy  to  see  him.  He  excelled  in 
conversation,  and  was  so  enthusiastic  in  respect  to  the  pro- 
gress of  his  pupils,  that  to  assist  them  at  all  times  and  sea- 
sons was  his  great  delight. 

I  knew  that  he  was  pleased  with  me  as  a  scholar  ;  he  ex- 
pressed his  pleasure  at  my  improvement,  and  praised  my 
readiness  in  mastering  difficulties. 

We  were  very  good  friends,  and  I  thought  of  nothing  fur- 
ther till  one  morning,  near  the  close  of  the  school  term,  hap- 
pening to  go  unusually  early,  I  found  myself  alone  with  the 
master.  I  was  quite  confounded  when,  after  sitting  by  me 
a  few  moments  aiding  me  in  my  lessons,  he  suddenly  re- 
quested my  permission  to  visit  me  occasionally. 

I  suppose  my  fright  and  confusion  had  the  appearance  of 


MASTER   HOWARD   AND    CHARLES   COKE.  2b3 

an  assent,  though  I  scarce  made  any  reply.  I  was  iu  a  sort 
of  maze  all  day,  and  in  truth  not  very  happy  in  the  thought 
of  the  new  relation  iu  which  he  had  placed  himself  towards 
me.  He  had  won  my  respect  and  regard  as  my  teacher  and 
friend,  but  I  felt  at  that  time  no  answering  chord  to  a  closer 
and  deeper  sympathy. 

There  was  another  who  had,  since  my  return  home,  made 
frequent  visits  at  our  house,  whose  presence  always  brought 
a  thrill  to  my  heart,  with  an  undefinable  intuition  that  I  was 
the  subject  of  his  thoughts  and  the  object  of  his  calls. 

This  was  Charles  Coke,  my  old  schoolmate,  whose  kind- 
ness I  had  often  felt  when  a  little  girl,  for  he  was  ten  years 
my  senior.  He  came  at  first  only  occasionally,  with  David 
Hill,  then  more  frequently,  until  my  acquaintance  with 
"  Master  Howard,"  since  which  he  had  entirely  ceased  his 
visits,  though  I  did  not  suspect  that  to  be  the  cause  till 
long  afterwards. 

The  next  season  I  spent  in  teaching,  at  a  retired  place 
called  "  Pudding  Hill,"  about  ten  miles  from  home. 

It  was  a  neighborhood  at  the  foot  of  a  long,  low  hill, 
which  rose  in  one  spot  to  a  round,  bare  summit,  whose  form 
suggested  the  name.  The  road,  lined  with  houses,  orchards, 
and  cultivated  fields,  skirted  its  base.  A  bye-lane  led.  to 
the  little  school-house,  high  up  on  the  slope  of  the  hill, 
deeply  shaded  by  a  grove  of  chestnut  trees,  whose  branches 
waved  close  upon  the  windows,  and  to  whose  cool  shade  I 
repaired  at  the  accustomed  hour  of  "  nooning,"  with  my 
book  and  dinner,  for  the  cousin  with  whom  I  boarded,  lived 
a  mile  distant  from  the  scene  of  my  labors. 


234  HOME. 

My  friend,  Mr.  Howard,  wrote  me  several  letters  while 
there,  which  I  answered.  These  were  mostly  a  mere  friendly 
exchange  on  ordinary  topics,  for  I  had  found  courage  to 
come  to  a  sort  of  explanation  with  him,  declining  at  present 
anything  more  than  a  friendly  intimacy. 

He  still  wished  a  correspondence  with  me,  alleging  that 
it  would  increase  our  acquaintance  and  be  a  means  of  im- 
provement. 

To  this  I  willingly  assented,  for  I  was  penetrated  with 
gratitude  for  his  preference,  and  felt  myself  honored  by  it. 
I  well  knew,  too,  who  would  be  the  gainer  in  the  proposed 
"  mutual "  benefit  of  writing. 

But  I  was  not  happy  nor  at  ease  ;  Isaac  Howard  was  not 
a  man  to  be  lightly  rejected  by  any  girl  ;  I  could  not  deny 
that  he  was  everything  that  I  could  ask,  in  his  superior 
acquirements  and  excellent  character  ;  much  more,  cer- 
tainly, than  I  had  reason  to  expect.  I  was  now  nineteen, 
and  ought,  surely,  to  be  influenced  less  by  mere  fancy  thau 
by  sober  judgment. 

Time  after  time  I  resolved  to  bring  myself  to  the  point, 
and  settle  down  satisfied  with  the  honorable,  manly  regard 
of  one  so  unexceptionable  ;  but  after  making  such  conclu- 
sions a  terrible  oppression  would  come  over  me,  as  if  some- 
thing was  irrecoverably  lost,  and  I  would  again  resolve  still 
to  defer  the  matter.  I  knew  that  my  father  desired  to  see 
his  daughters  well  married  ;  he  was  poor  ;  could  but  just 
struggle  along  and  provide  for  those  dependent  upon  him  ; 
and  I  may  add — what  was  the  simple  truth — it  displeased 
and  vexed  my  stepmother  to  have  us  all  at  home. 


MASTER   HOWARD   AND   CHARLES    COKE.  235 

I  pondered  much  on  the  position  of  my  sex,  in  respect 
to  that  which,  of  all  things  earthly,  most  affects  their  hap- 
piness. Having  no  freedom  of  choice  but  in  rejection,  did 
it  then  often  occur  that  the  secret  preference  must  be 
ignored  or  quelled,  and  the  sole  alternative  be,  a  single  life 
with  all  its  loneliness  and  dependence,  or  a  union  in  which 
interest  or  expediency  take  the  lead,  leaving  sacred,  holy, 
deep  affection  in  the  background  ? 

Some  such,  doubtless,  eventually  become  unions  of  souls, 
as  well  as  legal  bonds  ;  but  how  many  ill-assorted  couples 
we  meet,  who  "  worry  along"  together  through  life — both, 
perhaps,  weary  of  their  yoke  1 

I  was  annoyed,  too,  by  the  unwelcome  attentions  of  a 
young  man  living  near  my  cousin's — the  agent  in  procuring 
my  services  as  teacher.  He  made  himself  very  officious 
during  my  term,  in  virtue  of  his  office  as  director  of  the 
school,  and  manifested  a  most  benevolent  interest  in  my 
pupils.  / 

A  few  days  after  my  return  home  he  came  to  visit  me, 
but  I  treated  him  so  coolly  that  he  took  his  leave  the  same 
night  ;  being  overtaken  by  a  heavy  shower,  he  lost  his  way, 
and  after  riding  most  of  the  night,  arrived  home  dripping 
wet  ;  this  furnished  the  subject  of  a  witty  letter  from  my 
cousin,  affording  us  all  some  amusement. 

One  afternoon,  shortly  after  the  close  of  my  school,  Grace 
and  I  went,  each  on  horseback,  into  Valley  Brook  ;  whether 
for  pleasure  or  upon  some  errand,  I  do  not  now  remember  ; 
but  we  chanced  to  call  on  our  friends,  Olive  and  Linda 
Coke,  the  sisters  of  Charles,  who  was  standing  in  the  door, 


236  HOME. 

and  took  charge  of  our  horses.  I  had  not  seen  him  for  a 
long  time,  and  a  barrier  seemed  to  have  sprang  up  between 
us  as  if  we  had  been  strangers. 

Somehow  it  was  proposed  by  the  Cokes  to  join  us,  and 
ride  down  the  valley  to  Western,  the  next  town.  We  con- 
sented, all  was  soon  agreed  upon,  and  David  Hill,  their  next 
door  neighbor,  made  one  of  the  party. 

When  starting  off,  I  tried  to  manage  to  get  between  the 
girls,  Olive  and  Linda — partly  to  relieve  Grace  from  David's 
exclusive  attention,  and  partly  wishing,  I  hardly  knew  why, 
to  escape  proximity  to  Charles  ;  but  a  movement  of  some 
of  the  rest  brought  me  up  close  beside  him  and  behind  the 
others. 

Wishing  to  say  something  in  my  embarrassment,  I  began 
to  rally  him  upon  his  riding-stick —an  extremely  crooked 
one,  which  I  had  seen  him  select  and  carefully  trim. 

I  asked  him,  '*  Why  he  did  not  cut  a  straighter  stick  ?" 

He  looked  down  a  moment,  then,  with  a  peculiar  sort  of 
meaning  smile,  he  answered, 

"  If  I  should  have  ever  so  nice  a  one,  somebody  would  be 
getting  it  away  from  me.'7 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  I,  "  unless  you  like  to  give  it  up." 

These  were  trifling  words,  not  weighing,  apparently,  more 
than  straws,  but  in  their  effects,  had  a  world  of  meaning. 

The  whole  current  of  things  was  changed,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  a  veil  was  raised,  not  only  between  our  hearts  but  on 
all  the  world  around.  I  can  look  back  on  few  scenes  of  my 
life  with  such  unalloyed  happiness  as  on  that  ride. 

When  we  came  back  and  parted  at  Mr.  Coke's,  Charles 


MASTER   HOWARD    AND   CHARLES    COKE.  237 

came  up  to  me,  and  said,  in  a  low  tone  and  with  a  glowing 
face — "  Perhaps  I  shall  be  up  your  way  to-morrow  even- 
ing " 

I  bowed  without  meeting  his  eye,  and  rode  swiftly  away. 

Reader — I  was  happy  I  Not  with  the  light-hearted,  free, 
girlish  gaiety  of  past  years  ;  the  source  was  deeper  and 
broader  ;  the  feeling  more  still — more  profound. 

My  father  was  well  pleased  with  my  prospects  ;  my  sis- 
ters full  of  good-humored  raillery. 

Charles  Coke  was  what  is  called  "  well  to  do  ia  the 
world."  He  was  very  ingenious  in  the  construction  of  mills 
and  all  kinds  of  machinery,  and  he  possessed,  independently 
of  his  father,  a  pretty  little  cottage  and  some  lucrative 
mills. 

He  was  rather  below  the  middle  size,  but  finely  formed, 
erect,  and  graceful,  with  clear,  deep  blue  eyes,  and  fine  fea- 
tures ;  an  expression  at  once  grave  and  gentle,  and  a  smile 
singularly  sweet  and  winning.  Such,  at  least,  he  appeared 
to  me  ;  and  as  excellent  in  character  as  engaging  in  perso- 
nal qualities. 

He  was  quite  commonly  styled  "  Captain  Coke,"  though 
far  enough  from  being  military  in  person  or  habit  ;  but  the 
title  that  was  at  first  given  in  sport  had  become  a  usual 
designation.  Hester,  in  her  mirth,  used  to  call  him  "  Cap- 
tain Forehanded." 

Meantime,  Mr.  Howard's  last  letter  remained  long  unan- 
swered ;  and  one  morning  late  in  the  fall,  I  was  surprised 
by  a  call  from  him.  He  appeared  to  be  in  haste,  and,  after 
sitting  a  few  minutes  in  the  common  room,  conversing, 


238  HOME. 

though  not  in  his  usual  happy  manner,  he  requested  to  see 
me  alone. 

We  had  but  two  other  rooms  below,  one  appropriated  to 
our  parents'  use,  the  other  a  sleeping-room,  in  which  Hester 
was  now  shaking  the  beds,  all  in  the  thickest  confusion. 

This  was,  however,  the  only  place  where  I  could  speak 
with  him  in  private,  and,  full  of  embarrassment,  I  ushered 
him  in,  much  to  the  discomfiture  of  Hester,  who  speedily 
made  her  escape. 

A  single  question  sufficed  for  his  errand.  "  Was  I  en- 
gaged?" 

I  felt  that  frankness  was  due  him  on  my  part,  and  I  an 
swered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  To  Captain  Coke  ?" 

I  bowed  assent — he  expressed  a  wish  for  my  happiness, 
and  immediately  took  his  leave. 

This  was  at  the  time  a  most  unpleasant  occurrence,  and  I 
wished  he  had  fixed  his  thoughts  on  some  one  of  the  many 
others  more  worthy  of  him. 

How  far  distant  from  my  imagination  were  the  events  yet 
with  the  secrets  of  the,  Future  ! 

How  wonderful  the  ways  of  Providence,  seen  in  the  light 
of  the  Past  1 


NEW   TROUBLES.  239 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

NEW   TROUBLES. 

."MASTER  Howard"  was  again  teaching  the  winter  school 
at  "  the  Brook,"  and  Charles  Coke,  though  several  years 
his  senior,  became  one  of  his  pupils. 

Owing  to  the  peculiar  views  and  character  of  his  father, 
Charles's  early  education  had  been  neglected.  The  elder 
Mr.  Coke  thought  nothing  so  desirable  as  the  driving  for- 
ward, to  the  utmost  extent,  of  the  various  branches  of  his 
business.  His  children  he  kept  busy,  the  sons  en  the  large 
farm,  at  the  grist-mill,  saw-mill,  or  in  the  clothier's  estab- 
lishment ;  the  daughters,  in  the  dairy,  at  the  loom,  or  the 
spinning-wheel. 

Charles  had  good  native  powers,  and,  in  pursuance  of  his 
favorite  mechanical  arts,  he  desired  greater  knowledge  of 
mathematical  principles.  In  this  Mr.  Howard  excelled, 
and  therefore  he  was  not  ashamed,  though  verging  on 
thirty,  to  apply  to  him  for  instruction.  I  esteemed  him  all 
the  more  highly  for  this.  I  was  proud  of  his  course,  and 
loved  him,  if  possible,  still  better  for  it. 

Two  things  occurred,  however,  this  winter,  to  mar  my 
happiness,  and  disturb  the  fullness  of  my  content. 

I  should  before  have  said,  that  Mary  and  her  old  friend, 
Sam  Lyman,  were  married  early  in  winter,  and  went  to 


240  HOME. 

reside  at  Westmead,  a  town  some  thirty  miles  distant,  on. 
the  west  side  of  the  Connecticut. 

Grace  accompanied  them,  to  spend  the  winter  ;  so  that 
Hester  and  I  alone  were  left  at  home. 

Hester's  fine  singing  led  to  constant  occasions  for  going 
to  one  place  and  another.  Almost  every  day  she  was  called 
for  to  meet  a  musical  party,  practice  some  new  piece,  or  join 
some  social  company,  and  she,  on  her  part,  was  always 
ready  to  go,  for  music  was  her  delight.  Her  frequent  com- 
panion in  these  gatherings  was  a  young  man  named  Albert 
Fayon,  who  lived  in  a  remote  part  of  Wayland,  and  with 
whom  we  had  been  little  acquainted  till  now  that  his  supe- 
rior tenor  voice  became  a  sort  of  necessary  accompaniment 
to  Hester's  fine  treble.  It  was  the  time  when  the  old 
fuguing  melody  was  so  prevalent,  the  different  parts  chasing 
each  other  through  the  tunes  with  almost  endless  repeats. 

Albert  Fayon  thus  became  a  frequent  visitor  at  our 
house,  and  very  attentive  to  Hester.  It  was  evident  they 
liked  each  other  well,  and,  indeed,  for  some  time  they  had 
kept,  according  to  the  expression  of  the  day,  "particular 
company  "  together. 

At  length  days  passed,  and  he  did  not  come — two  weeks 
and  more — and  Hester  went  moping  about  the  house,  spirit- 
less and  heavy-eyed,  dull  and  silent.  She  was  usually  talk- 
ative and  lively,  and  accustomed  to  tell  me  every  thing  ; 
but  I  waited  in  vain  for  her  voluntary  explanation  of  this 
mystery. 

I  finally  sought,  and  at  length  obtained  her  confidence. 

It  appeared  that,  a  few  months  previously,  this  young 


NEW   TROUBLES.  241 

man  had  been  for  some  time  a  boarder  in  the  family  of  Mr. 
Homer,  the  father  of  little  Nabby  mentioned  in  the  former 
part  of  my  story.  She  had  grown  n.p  a  tall,  dashing  girl, 
bold  and  hoydenish  in  manners,  and  quite  free  in  the  com- 
pany of  the  other  sex. 

Now,  to  be  brief,  she  found  herself  in  trouble.  Her 
parents  were  no  longer  in  ignorance  of  her  shame,  and 
Albert,  knowing  the  truth  must  soon  appear,  came  to  my 
sister  and  confessed  his  guilt,  entreating  her  to  overlook  it, 
saying  that  the  blame  rested  not  altogether  with  him  ;  that 
his  affections  were  still  Hester's,  and  that  he  wished  to 
marry  her,  if  she  would  but  accept  him.  Hester  decided  at 
once  ;  and,  with  a  true  womanly  spirit,  as  well  as  according 
to  principles  of  justice,  urged  him  to  make  the  atonement 
within  his  power  to  Nabby,  by  a  speedy  union  with  her. 

She  wavered  not  a  moment  in  her  decision  ;  she  did  not 
betray  her  feelings  to  him,  but  she  was  sorely  stricken, 
Nor  was  the  wound  less  deep  because  it  was  secret,  and 
unsuspected  to  the  eye  of  the  world. 

Hester  never  loved  again. 

She  is  living  still  in  her  maidenhood — a  fair,  cheerful, 
serene  old  lady.  To  want,  sickness,  and  sorrow  she  has 
ever  been  the  ministering  angel  of  comfort.  For  these 
many  years  a  devoted,  humble  follower  of  "  Him  who  loved 
her  and  gave  himself  for  her,"  who  "  went  about  doing 
good,"  she  is  looking  forward,  in  the  assured  hope  of  being, 
ere  long,  transplanted  to  the  heavenly  garden,  where  the 
plants  do  not  wither,  nor  the  flowers  fa3e. 

Far  happier  has  been  her  quiet  lot  than  the  stormy  life 
11 


242  HOME. 

of  Albert  and  his  unprincipled  wife  ;  for  social  crime  not 
seldom  receives,  even  in  this  world,  its  own  peculiar  punish- 
ment. A  union,  necessarily  lacking  the  foundation  of 
respect,  could  hardly  be  expected  to  attain  the  super- 
structure of  affection  ;  and  though  they  kept  up  the  show 
of  domestic  happiness,  there  were  those  who  knew  too  well 
that  it  was  but  a  hollow  pretence,  and  that  the  angel  of 
peace  was  almost  a  stranger  in  their  dwelling. 

I  said  there  were  two  things  that  troubled  me  ;  the 
second  recalls  to  mind  that  saying  of  the  colored  preacher, 
"  If  you  know  any  thing  that  will  make  your  fellow-man 
happy,  run  quick  and  tell  it  to  him  ;  but  if  you  hear  what 
will  cause  him  grief,  or  trouble,  keep  it  locked  close  in  your 
own  breast."  Much  sorrow  would  be  spared,  did  all  act 
from  this  direction  ;  but,  unhappily,  an  unwelcome  report, 
or  an  unkind  speech,  is  sure  to  reach  its  object :  some  one 
"feels  it  a  duty"  to  repeat  it. 

It  was  intimated  to  me,  about  this  time,  that  the  Coke 
family  were  not  pleased  with  Charles's  choice.  They  -said 
I  was  "  too  lively,  too  fond  of  company  and  gaiety  ;  that  I 
should  make  him  an  unprofitable  wife,  drawing  heavily 
upon  his  purse-strings,  instead  of  helping  him  forward  in 
life  ;  and  withal,  that,  though  proud  enough,  and  fond  of 
appearing  well,  I  was  a  poor  girl,  without  a  cent  to  do 
with,  and  that  Charles  might  have  done  much  better." 

I  could  not  but  feel  that,  from  the  genius  of  the  family 
and  their  habits,  some  such  thoughts  of  me  would  naturally 
arise  in  their  minds,  and  I  was  deeply  grieved  at  the  idea  of 
appearing  in  such  a  light  to  the  parents  of  my  affianced 


NEW   TROUBLES.  243 

husband.  Besides,  if  Charles  heard  such  things  said,  would 
they  not  affect  his  own  feelings  towards  me  ?  This  was  a 
bitter  thought,  and  I  brooded  over  it  some  days,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  and  swollen  eyes. 

Not  wishing  to  meet  Charles  in  this  state  of  mind,  I  went 
over  to  Bessy's  home,  to  open  my  heart  to  her,  and  seek 
her  counsel.  I  told  her  all  my  wounded,  resentful  feelings, 
aud  that  I  had  almost  resolved  to  tell  Charles  we  must 
separate,  for  I  could  not  enter  his  family  against  their 
wishes. 

"No,"  said  my  prudent  sister,  "do  no  such  thing.  Con- 
quer your  pride,  and  look  calmly  at  the  matter  ;  it  is  best 
to  look  things  fairly  in  the  face,  and  then  they  often  put  on 
a  brighter  aspect." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  little  else  for  the  last  three 
days,"  said  I. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  you  have  only  been  looking  on 
one  side  of  it — the  one  reflected  from  your  own  wounded 
spirit.  Very  possibly  you  have  heard  more  than  was  ever 
said,  for  you  know  a  story  loses  nothing  by  being  repeated. 
How  did  you  hear  it  ?" 

"  Sally  Green  told  me  ;  she  stayed  at  our  house  one  night 
last  week,  and  we  slept  together,  and  she  told  me,  because 
she  thought  I  ought  to  know  it.  You  know  her  brother 
Josiah's  wife  is  Mr.  Coke's  eldest  daughter,  and  she  heard 
it  from  her." 

"  Sally  Green  loves  to  talk,  too  well,"  said  Bessy.  "  It 
was  not  acting  the  part  of  a  friend  to  tell  you  remarks  that 


2M  HOME. 

were  never  intended  for  your  ear,  if,  indeed,  they  were  ever 
made." 

•'  I  know  it  would  not  grieve  her  much  to  break  off  our 
engagement  if  she  could  ;  she  wants  Charles  herself.  I  have 
never  reckoned  her  among  my  friends,  still  I  think  there 
must  be  some  truth  in  it." 

"Truth  in  it  ?"  said  Bessy;  "  certainly  there  is,  and  in 
the  widest  sense,  too  ;  probably  they  have  said  something 
of  the  kind,  nor  do  they  ever  say  more  than  they  feel  ;  but 
have  they  not  reason  for  it  ?  You  cannot  deny  that  you 
are  a  poor  girl,  that  can  bring  no  dowry  to  your  husband, 
and  we  must  look  at  the  light  in  which  they  view  things,  in 
order  to  judge  correctly.  They  are  all  for  work,  and  get- 
ting rich,  and  thiuk  it  absurd  to  lay  aside  any  business  for 
visiting,  or  what  they  call  frolicking  ;  dress  they  despise — 
and  they  never  think  of  opening  a  book,  for  reading  with 
them  is  a  waste  of  time.  We  are  different.  It  is  then  no 
wonder  that  they  dislike  to  see  their  eldest  son,  so  promis- 
ing and  well  to  do,  in  danger  of  ruin,  as  they  think,  from 
gaiety,  company,  and  extravagance." 

This  was  but  probing  the  wound,  and,  with  a  pang  at  my 
heart,  I  looked  up  reproachfully,  saying, 

"  Then  we  had  best  separate  at  once,  for  I  could  never 
please  them,  and  should  only  make  Charles  unhappy." 

"  It  is  Captain  Coke  you  expect  to  marry;"  returned  she, 
"  not  the  family.  He  is  a  man  who  thinks  deeply,  and  ob- 
serves well ;  all  this  is  known  to  him,  and  has  doubtless  been 
duly  considered.  I  mean,"  said  she,  smiling,  as  I  made  a 


NEW    TEOUBLE8.  24:5 

motion  to  speak,  "  that  he  is  aware  of  the  points  of  diffe- 
rence between  his  family  and  ours  ;  not  that  he  sees  just  as 
his  parents  do  ;  his  mind  takes  a  wider  range,  and  he  looks 
at  life — its  purposes,  duties,  and  enjoyments — in  a  different 
light." 

"But  I  do  so  want  to  please  them,  for  they  are  his 
friends." 

"  I  think  you  will  be  able  to  do  so  in  time.  But  even 
were  it  otherwise,  it  should  be  the  same  to  you.  Charles 
has  chosen  you  as  his  life-companion — he  values  and  seeks 
you  for  the  qualities  you  actually  possess.  Therefore  it 
only  remains  for  you  to  stand  up  in  your  place  with  a  mo- 
dest self-respect,  and  act  your  part  as  well  as  you  can  ; 
complying  with  and  conforming  to  the  habits  of  the  family 
as  far  as  you  deem  consistent  with  duty  and  propriety." 

"  But,  dear  Bessy,  is  not  this  rather  humbling  advice  ?" 

"  Humbling  ?  Perhaps  it  is  ;  but  pride  never  makes  us 
happier.  The  truest  self-respect  comes  from  a  just  apprecia- 
tion of  ourselves,  and  this  constitutes  real  humility.  He 
who  is  humble,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term,  will  always 
possess  a  certain  dignity  of  character,  an  essential  nobility." 

I  was  at  firsfe  but  half  satisfied,  but  a  little  reflection 
placed  the  whole  matter  in  a  new  light,  and,  contrary  to 
my  first  intention,  I  returned  home  the  next  morning,  having 
a  secret  hope  that  I  should  see  Charles  in  the  evening  at 
home. 

He  came,  and  our  conversation  turning  upon  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  mind,  I  heard  him,  with  not  a  little  pleasure, 
express  his  views  of  its  importance,  of  the  value  of  good 


246  HOME. 

books,  and  of  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  reading  and 
study.  I  had  the  sweet  assurance  that  no  misgivings  arose 
in  his  mind  as  to  the  fitness  of  his  choice,  but  that  his  esti- 
mation of  me  had  the  full  consent  of  reason  and  judgment. 

I  was  married  the  next  spring,  just  before  my  twentieth 
birth-day.  My  husband  was  the  man  of  my  choice  ;  he  was 
the  handsomest  and  most  wealthy  young  man  of  Wayland, 
and  he  was  universally  respected  and  beloved.  My  home 
in  Valley  Brook  was  a  neat  cottage,  separated  from  the 
main  road  by  a  square  lawn,  bordered  with  trees  ;  lilacs  and 
rose  bushes  were  under  the  windows  and  about  the  doors. 
Another  road  crossed  at  right  angles,  and  passing  by  the 
common  entrance,  ascended  the  steep  hill-side,  having  on  the 
left  our  blooming  orchard,  and  on  the  right  a  green  pasture, 
sprinkled  with  fine  old  chestnut  trees,  while  further  up  the 
hill  were  our  upper  orchard  and  a  plantation  of  sugar  ma- 
ples. The  road  winding  along  and  over  the  rugged  ascent, 
descended  on  ihe  opposite  side  to  the  banks  of  the  Connec- 
ticut, and  to  the  pretty  town  of  Dudleyville,  spread  out 
upon  its  fertile  meadows,  only  five  miles  distant. 

In  front  of  our  house  this  cross-road  led  down  the  gentle 
slope  to  the  brook,  there  widening  into  "a  mill-pond  ;  and 
the  sound  of  the  blacksmith's  trip-hammer,  early  and  late, 
mingled  with  the  ceaseless  dash  of  the  water.  Skirting 
the  mill-pond,  on  this  side  the  brook,  was  a  large,  round 
clump  of  trees,  like  a  verdant  crown,  on  which  the  eye  loved 
to  rest.  Beyond,  the  land  rose  abruptly,  and  far  up,  beyond 
a  piece  of  woodland,  a  rocky  pasture,  and  a  strip  of  mow- 
ing, could  be  seen  through  the  opening  trees  a  glimpse  of  a 


NEW   TROUBLES.  247 

red  cottage,  which  was  situated  on  a  road  near  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  running  parallel  with  the  valley  ;  this  was  Bessy's 
home,  less  than  a  mile  distant  by  the  foot-path  (kept  well 
worn)  through  the  woods  and  up  the  steep  ascent.  In  plain 
sight  from  our  cottage  door,  peeping  through  the  trees,  was 
the  large,  square-roofed  mansion  of  father  Coke  ;  rising  in 
the  background  was  the  dark  Pine  Mountain,  while  close  to 
us  was  David  Hill's  pretty  house,  neat  shop,  and  trim 
garden.  His  young  wife,  Eunice  Getting,  the  sister  of 
Bessy's  husband,  had  long  been  one  of  my  most  intimate 
and  loved  companions. 

As  to  earthly  blessings,  my  cup  was  full.  Rapt  in  a 
blissful  dream,  I  was  as  happy  for  the  next  few  years  as 
any  one  can  be  who  looks  no  higher  than  earth  for  her  por- 
tion. Secure  in  the  gift,  I  had  forgotten  the  Giver.  It 
seemed  that  my  Heavenly  Father,  who  had  once  and  again 
spoken  to  me  by  the  warning  voice  of  His  Providence,  to 
lead  me  to  Himself,  was  now  proving  me  with  the  boon  of 
earthly  happiness — more  pure  and  unmixed  than  often  falls 
to  the  lot  of  mortals. 

Alas  I  Ingratitude  and  total  neglect  of  my  bountiful 
Benefactor  was  the  base  return  ! 


248 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"IT   WAS   A  DREAM,    AND   WOULD    NOT   STAY." 

NEARLY  five  years  had  passed.  Winter  had  set  in  early, 
and  there  was  a  deep  fall  of  snow,  though  not  yet  quite 
December.  The  sleighing  was  excellent  in  the  bright,  keen, 
frosty  air,  and  it  was  Thanksgiving  Day,  the  great  festival 
of  New  England. 

Let  us  take  a  peep  at  my  home,  and  the  treasures  there. 

My  husband  was  sitting  near  the  fire  ;  his  clear,  manly 
brow  lighted  up  with  a  look  of  serene  content,  as  he  gazed 
into  the  wondering  eyes  of  the  tiny  babe  he  held  in  his 
arms,  whose  little  life  had  wakened  into  being  scarce  four 
months  since.  A  little  girl  of  two  years,  rosy  and  dimpled, 
stood  at  his  knee.  Her  deep-blue  eyes  were  the  reflection 
of  his  own.  She  was  full  of  childish  prattle  and  gleeful 
ecstasy,  to  see  her  baby  sister  laugh  and  crow  to  her. 

My  precious  boy,  not  quite  four  years  old — a  straight, 
chubby-cheeked,  manly  little  fellow — was  helping  his  happy 
mother  to  remove  the  breakfast  things,  with  no  slight  sense 
of  the  valuable  aid  he  was  rendering. 

We  were  to  have  a  small  but  joyous  gathering  in  our 
cottage  that  day,  and  I  was  busy  in  preparation.  Fires 
were  lighted  in  the  two  square  rooms,  the  furniture  furbished 
and  arranged  in  the  best  manner  possible,  and  the  bare, 
white  floors  freed  from  soil  or  dust.  The  turkey  was  ready 


IT   WAS   A   DKEAM,    AND    WOULD    NOT   STAY.        249 

for  the  spit,  the  great  plum-pudding  was  in  the  oven,  and 
long  rows  of  pies,  of  diverse  sorts,  were  set  forth  in  goodly 
array  in  the  pantry. 

In  due  time  the  jingling  bells  announced  the  arrivals. 
First  came  Mary  and  her  husband,  now  residing  on  his  farm 
in  Wayland,  with  their  two  little  girls,  Xenia,  three,  and 
Mary,  one  year  old — sweet  little  children,  with  dark,  curly 
hair,  and  witching  black  eyes!  Next  carae  Bessy  and 
Brother  Getting  ;  he  so  grave  and  silent,  yet  laughing  at 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  with  much  quiet  fun,  when  the  joke 
went  round.  What  he  said  was  in  a  low,  steady  tone, 
scarce  audible  across  the  room,  yet  always  replete  with 
sense. 

Two  little  sons  had  Bessy.  Sammy,  three  years  old,  was 
quite  a  little  miniature  man,  and  both  sober  and  roguish. 
Alger  was  a  baby  of  a  few  months.  Grace,  too,  was  there, 
and  with  her  a  tall,  dark  man,  of  noble,  engaging  mien, 
whose  name  was  Cunningham.  He  was  a  wealthy  young 
farmer  of  Westmead,  and  he  had  won  my  beautiful  sister's 
hand  not  long  after  Mary's  marriage,  and  very  proud  of  her 
was  he.  She,  too,  had  a  fair,  blue-eyed  baby-daughter,  just 
able  to  toddle  about  the  room.  It  was  the  first  time  Grace 
had  been  with  us  since  her  marriage,  three  years  before. 
All  marked  a  change  in  her  :  a  still  greater  delicacy  of  form 
and  feature.  She  was  very  pale,  yet,  with  the  least  excite- 
ment, a  warm  flush  would  brighten  her  cheek,  and  an  almost 
unnatural  lustre  would  sparkle  in  her  eye.  She  said  she 
was  well,  and  was  all  vivacity  and  happiness  ;  yet  I  trem- 
bled, for  I  thought  of  that  insidious  foe,  consumption  ;  still 
11* 


250  HOME. 

my  fears  were  much  allayed  by  her  assurances,  and  her 
evident  enjoyment  of-  Hie. 

Hester  completed  the  family  group.  She  was  to  stay 
some  days  with  me,  and  she  now  found  ample  employment 
in  watching  and  admiring  all  the  pretty  ways  of  the  little 
nephews  and  nieces.  She  was  extremely  fond  of  children, 
having  her  favorites  among  them,  whom  she  would  caress 
with  a  warmth  almost  amounting  to  rapture. 

After  our  substantial  dinner  had  been  duly  discussed,  the 
gentlemen  went  together  to  visit  the  respectable  inhabitants 
of  the  barn-yard  and  the  sty,  and  to  inspect  their  horses  ; 
returning  to  sit  over  the  kitchen  fire,  discussing  politics, 
farm,  and  town  affairs  ;  while  we,  the  sisters,  were  by  no 
means  silent.  Questions  were  asked  and  answered,  laugh- 
ing reproofs  administered,  jests  retorted,  and  advice  asked 
and  given.  We  talked  of  our  children,  unfolding  to  each 
other  all  the  particulars  of  our  separated  lives — our  plea- 
sures and  perplexities,  joys  and  sorrows. 

Two  weeks  af'er  this  happy  meeting  a  very  different 
group  were  gathered  in  the  same  place.  There  were  low 
tones,  hushed  voices,  faces  that  were  pale,  and  hearts 
gathering  despair  :  it  was  the  chamber  of  mortal  sickness. 
In  a  corner  near  the  fire  stood  three  physicians,  talking  in 
subdued  accents,  and  glancing  from  time  to  time  to  the  bed 
near  the  middle  of  the  room,  on  which  lay  the  sufferer, 
tossing  wildly — his  strong,  well-knit  frame  convulsed  with 
agony.  Anxious  friends  were  about  his  couch,  and  his 
young  wife  bent  over  him,  in  anguish  of  soul,  praying  for 


IT   WAS   A   DKEAM   AND    WOULD   NOT   STAY.         251 

life — only  life  ! — praying  against  hope,  with  all  the  might 
of  despair,  that  this  sickness  might  not  be  unto  death. 

That  anguish,  that  despair,  was  mine !  That  cup  was 
given  to  me  to  drink  1 

My  husband  had  been  ill  a  week,  the  fever  increasing 
every  moment  in  violence,  and  baffling  all  the  skill  of  the 
physicians.  They  said  there  was  no  hope  !  Late  in  the 
evening  he  became  quiet ;  the  intensity  of  suffering  had 
spent  its  force,  and  exhausted  nature  was  giving  way  before 
it — or,  was  it  the  crisis  between  life  and  death,  and  might 
he  not  rally  again — the  vigor  of  life  within  him  triumph 
over  the  strength  of  disease  ?  No  1  the  cold  dew  was  on 
his  brow — he  was  dying !  His  eye  all  at  once  steadied, 
fixed,  and  settled  on  mine  with  earnest  meaning — "Anna!" 
said  he,  "  we  must  part  1" 

"  I  cannot  have  it  so  1"  I  cried,  with  a  burst  of  anguish. 
"  You  must  not  die,  and  leave  me  1  you  cannot  be  spared  I" 

He  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  wrestling  with  his  feelings. 
Forcing  myself,  at  length,  to  be  more  calm,  I  asked  the 
fearful  question,  "  Are  you  willing  to  die  ?" 

He  paused  a  moment,  with  eyes  still  closed  ;  he  was 
summoning  all  his  strength  of  spirit  to  the  dread  encounter. 
"I  am  willing,"  he  said,  at  length  ;  "all  must  meet  their 
doom." 

Oh  !  the  bitterness  of  that  hour  !  Even  at  that  awful 
moment  came  a  flash  of  conscious  guilt  into  my  mind,  as  if 
a  mocking  spirit  said,  "  You  have  cast  off  your  God,  broken 
your  resolutions,  lived  as  if  there  were  no  death — no  here- 
after— and  now  He  will  not  heed  your  prayers  1" 


252  HOME. 

Our  little  son  was  brought  to  his  bedside.  "  Love  your 
mother,"  said  he,  "  and  take  care  of  her."  He  stopped — a 
violent  paroxysm  of  pain  came  on — the  struggle  was  terri- 
ble— and  ere  midnight  he  was  no  more. 

Ah  !  that  day  of  sorrow  I  Utterly  prostrate,  helpless, 
impotent,  and  desolate — my  idol,  my  life,  my  all  was 
snatched  away  1  My  sky  was  dark,  the  star  of  hope  clean 
gone — the  bright  sunshine  was  a  fierce  glare — clouds  and 
storms  the  angry  scowl  of  defiance  !  Even  my  children, 
before  my  joy  and  treasure,  at  first  only  seemed  to  add 
weight  and  poignancy  to  the  blow. 

Thousands  there  were  who  lived  on  as  I  had  done,  in 
total  neglect  of  God  ;  walking  in  the  light  of  their  own 
eyes,  and  after  the  counsels  of  their  own  hearts  ;  yet  they 
were  not  smitten — their  sun  went  not  down  at  noon — their 
idols  were  not  cut  off ! 

Such  was  the  daring  language  of  my  rebellious  heart ; 
thus  I  arraigned  the  justice  of  the  Disposer  of  all  1 


BEHIND*  THE   CLOUD   18   THE   SUN    STILL    SHINING.    253 

I 

CHAPTER    XLIII. 

"  BEHIND   THE    CLOUD   IS   THE    SUN    STILL   SHINING." 

BETTER  thoughts  came — the  promptings  of  the  spirit  of 
Grace.  I  learned  to  look  op  to  God — blessed  be  His 
name  !  with  sweet  submission — to  recognize  His  tender 
love  even  under  his.  afflictive  rod. 

But  it  was  long  ere  the  bitterest  drop  of  all  was  taken 
away.  I  knew  that  he  who  was  gone  had  lived  not  only 
thoughtless  of  God,  but  profoundly  ignorant  of  His-  word 
and  His  will.  His  parents  professed  a  belief  in  univer- 
sal salvation,  but  lived  literally  "  without  God  in  the 
world."  They  never  went  to  meeting  ;  their  children  spent 
the  Sabbath  as  they  listed,  frequently  attending  church 
because  other  young  people  did,  but  were  entirely  heed- 
less of  their  obligations  to  their  Creator. .  This  had  troubled 
me  occasionally  ever  since  my  marriage,  but  now  the  thought 
was  a  constant  leaden  weight  upon  my  heart,  with  a  keen 
sense  of  my  own  guilty  lack,  for  I  had  been  religiously  in- 
structed from  childhood.  I  knew  my  duty,  but  I  did  it  not. 
Who  could  know  what  the  effect  might  have  been  of  my 
example  and  influence  on  my  Charles,  ever  so  kindly  obser- 
vant of  my  wishes,  so  ready  to  listen  to  me,  even  to  solicit 
the  expression  of  my  inmost  feelings. 

My  tortured  mind  dwelt  on  the  parting  scene.     I  strove 


254  HOME. 

to  fix  on  his  words,  "  I  am  willing,"  as  an  anchor  of  com- 
fort ;  but  my  soul  saw  too  clearly  now — all  mists  were  rolled 
back  ;  the  spirit  could  indeed  nerve  itself  to  meet  that 
which  could  not  be  shunned — with  no  alternative  ;  the  body 
wrung  with  pain  might  choose  death  rather  than  life  ;  but 
was  this  the  Christian's  hope — the  believer's  trust  ? 

But  after  a  time  this,  my  heaviest  burden,  was  mercifully 
lifted,  and  I  was  enabled  sweetly  to  commit  all  my  cares 
and  sorrows  to  Him  who  is  mighty  to  save.  A  God  glori- 
ous in  Love  and  Mercy  became  the  great  subject  of  my 
thoughts,  seeming  to  fill  my  whole  being  and  the  whole  mea- 
sureless universe  around  me.  The  world  was  as  nothing. 
I  wondered  at  my  past  life  ;  it  seemed  such  an  amazing 
state  of  blind  selfishness  and  ingratitude. 

I  thought  of  myself  not  as  a  child  of  God,  but  as  one  of 
the  least  of  his  creatures  ;  yet  my  mind  was  calm  and  peace- 
ful, and  I  even  felt  a  sort  of  serene  joy  in  the  thought  that 
my  earthly  happiness  had  been  yielded  up  at  His  sovereign 
fiat,  as  if  immolated  on  His  altar.  I  repeated  continually 
in  my  heart,  "  the  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful  giver" — and  the 
words  brought  refreshing  comfort.  My  feelings  at  this 
time  were  all  within  my  own  breast ;  none  spoke  to  me  of 
the  state  of  my  mind,  and  though  the  words  were  ofttimes 
on  my  lips,  a  shrinking  reluctance  prevailed,  and  I  opened 
my  heart  to  no  one.  Gradually  light  shone  upon  my  path, 
and  my  duty  to  my  God,  and  to  my  children,  began  to  stand 
out  to  my  view ;  it  became  my  great  purpose  and  desire  first 
to  confess  Christ  before  men,  then  to  nurture  for  Him  the 
precious  souls  he  had  entrusted  to  me. 


BEHIND   THE   CLOUD    18   THE   SUN    STILL   SHINING.    255 

My  soul  thirsted  for  some  communication,  sympathy,  and 
counsel,  upon  this  subject.  My  father,  to  whom  I  longed 
to  uufold  my  anxieties,  was  ill  in  health  and  I  saw  him  but  sel- 
dom, never  alone.  About  this  time  my  Uncle  James  Lyle 
accompanied  me  to  the  shiretown  to  see  the  judge  on  the 
business  of  settlement.  He  being  "  first  deacon "  of  the 
church,  as  well  as  a  revered  relative,  it  seemed  a  favorable 
opportunity  to  speak  upon  the  matter  nearest  my  heart. 
Accordingly,  with  much  diffidence  and  hesitation,  I  com- 
menced, saying  that  my  thoughts  had  been  of  late  much 
exercised  upon  the  duties  of  religion — that  I  had  a  wish  to 
unite  myself  with  the  people  of  God. 

He  answered  at  once,  in  a  quick,  careless  manner, 

"  It  will  be  a  very  good  thing.  You  had  better  join  the 
church  by  all  means." 

I  cannot  describe  how  I  was  chilled  and  thrown  back 
upon  myself  by  this  indifferent  tone  and  manner,  as  if  some- 
thing most  dear  and  sacred  to  me  had  been  rudely  handled 
and  treated  as  of  no  moment. 

Uncle  Lyle  was,  I  truly  believe,  a  good  man — a  follower 
of  the  Savionr — and  was  looked  upon  as  a  model  of  piety  ; 
but  religion  at  that  time  seemed  veiled  and  hidden — a  can- 
dle under  a  bushel — not  upon  a  candlestick,  giving  a  light 
to  all  around. 

But  my  Heavenly  Father  provided  for  my  need — sending 
to  me,  from  a  quarter  where  I  least  expected  it,  that  great 
blessing-r-a  true  Christian  friend. 

Mrs.  Chaplain,  in  the  former  part  of  my  story  mentioned 
as  Abby  Lyman,  now  the  wife  of  Moses  Chaplain,  lived 


256  HOME. 

about  half  a  mile  from  my  dwelling,  further  down  the  valley 
on  the  main  road.  Their  house  was,  however,  just  within 
the  boundary  of  Western,  the  next  town,  where  she  attended 
meeting,  and  I  was  ignorant  of  the  great  change  Divine 
Grace  had  wrought  in  her,  taking  hold  of  all  the  strong 
powers  of  her  soul.  She  knew  nothing  of  my  religious  state, 
for  we  had  had  but  occasional  intercourse. 

Quite  unexpectedly,  early  one  morning,  she  came,  bring- 
ing her  sewing  in  her  hand,  to  sit  and  talk  with  me.  She 
said  it  had  been  in  her  mind  to  come,  from  day  to  day,  ever 
since  my  affliction. 

"  And  now,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "is  it  all  right  between 
you  and  your  Father  above,  whose  hand  is  .laid  so  heavily 
upon  you  ?  Can  you  look  up  ?" 

My  answer  was  a  burst  of  tears,  and  an  earnest  impetu- 
ous cry  broke  from  my  lips, 

"  I  can  say  from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  'just  and  mer- 
ciful are  all  His  ways.'" 

Then  followed  between  us  a  long,  unrestrained  conversa- 
tion ;  the  flow  of  mutual  experience,  of  the  dealings  of  <xod 
with  us.  It  was  as  a  fountain  of  cold  water  to  my  parched 
soul. 

Mrs.  Chaplain  had  had  many  and  severe  trials.  Her 
husband,  who  inherited  a  large  and  valuable  farm,  was  a 
coarse,  illiterate  man  ;  a  hard  worker  and  a  hard  drinker  ; 
hurrying  and  driving  upon  his  farm-work,  and  giving  heed 
to  nothing  beyond  ;  withal  bitterly  opposed  to  what  he 
was  wont  to  style,  with  an  oath,  "  religious  ways." 

His  wife  was  a  large-souled,  noble  woman,  of  great  hide- 


BEHIND   THE   CLOUD   18   THE   BUN    STILL   SHINING.    257 

pendence  ;  by  which  I  mean,  that  she  was  fearless  in  doing 
what  she  considered  to  be  right.  When  she  felt  it  her  duty 
to  profess  her  faith  in  Christ  publicly,  she  did  so,  without 
consulting  or  informing  her  husband,  for  he  never  went  to 
the  house  of  worship  ;  she  would  not  risk  his  refusal  ;  he 
had  forbidden  her  to  attend  any  religious  meeting  except  on 
the  Sabbath,  and  instead  of  aiding  her  to  go  then,  he  would 
place  every  obstacle  in  her  way,  and  often  she  would  take 
the  horse  from  the  stable  or  pasture  herself,  and  ride  off 
alone  to  the  little  church  four  miles  distant. 

Her  little  son,  instead  of  being  permitted  to  go  with  her, 
was  many  -a  time  taken  by  his  father  to  some  scene  of 
revelry,  to  witness  drinking  and  profaneness  in  his  own  pa- 
rent, learning  ways  which  wrung  the  heart  of  his  mother. 

At  home,  if  her  husband  chanced  to  find  her  engaged  in 
reading  the  Bible,  his  anger  knew  no  bounds.  Coarse  and 
vulgar  language,  even  personal  abuse,  were  then  her  por- 
tion, yet  she  bore  it  all  with  exemplary  patience. 

Nor  was  she  exempt  from  sorrow  of  a  different  nature. 
Sickness  visited  her  family,  and  death  once  took  from  her 
tender  embrace  an  infant  of  only  a  few  days  by  a  distressing 
accident.  Her  nurse  had  been  called  away,  and  the  child 
was  for  a  short  time  entrusted  to  the  care  of  a  young  house- 
maid. By  some  unpardonable  awkwardness  she  let  the  lit- 
tle thing  fall  upon  the  stone  hearth,  dislocating  its  tiny 
limbs  in  a  most  shocking  manner.  I  was  soon  sent  for,  and 
found  all  my  sympathies  called  into  full  play  between  the 
grieving  mother  and  the  horror-stricken  girl,  who  could  not 
forgive  herself  for  her  blundering  carelessness. 


258  HOME. 

Death  soon  relieved  the  little  sufferer  from  its  anguish, 
but  the  mother  at  first  "refused  to  be  comforted." 

Still,  in  this  as  in  all  her  sorrows,  she  "  went  and  told 
Jesus,"  and  from  the  rich  supplies  of  Heavenly  comfort 
which  she  received  at  His  bountiful  hand,  she  was  ena- 
bled to  dispense  to  others. 

Her  trials  taught  her  to  feel  for  the  woes  of  the  afflicted, 
and  many  a  lesson  of  resignation  and  trust  did  she  teach  to 
me  by  her  example  and  her  counsel. 


MRS.    CHAPLAIN.  259 


CHAPTER    XLIY. 

MRS..  CHAPLAIN. 

"  A  perfect  woman,  no'>ly  planned. 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright 
With  something  of  an  angel  light." 

"  Iler  noble  deeds  leave  '  footprints  on  the  sands  of  time,'  and  her  good  works, 
4  such  as  become  those  who  profess  godliness,'  find  record  in  the  Book  of  Life." 

THE  remembrance  of  my  friend,  Mrs.  Chaplain,  awakens 
in  my  mind  mtny  interesting  reflections.  I  love  to  trace 
the  threads  of  her  checkered  web  of  life,  and  by  the  recital 
of  her  subsequent  course,  and  the  fortunes  of  her  children, 
recall  her  history,  and  note  the  manner  in  which  the  many 
trying  passages  of  their  lives  have  been  conducted  by  an 
overruling  Providence  to  such  happy  issue. 

"  Evil  men,"  we  are  told,  "  shall  wax  worse  and  worse." 
The  conduct  of  Moses  Chaplain  to  his  workmen  and  neigh- 
bors became  more  and  more  surly  and  overbearing.  His 
downward  career  was  a  rapid  one.  Through  frequent 
drunkenness  and  nightly  carousals,  his  business  was  ne- 
glected, and  his  property  wasted,  till,  from  the  accumulation 
of  debt,  he  was  forced  to  the  sale  of  his  large  farm  and 
handsome  house,  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  reasonable 
demands  of  his  numerous  creditors. 

Abby  Lyman  had  been  induced  to  become  his  wife  by  the 


260  HOME. 

persuasions  of  her  ambitious  mother,  Madam  Dudley,  in 
whose  eyes  wealth  was  the  highest  qualification,  overtopping 
every  other  characteristic,  whether  of  mind  or  person. 

To  her  imperative  sway  Abby  was  ever  accustomed  to 
yield  with  unquestioning  deference  ;  and,  affectionate  iu  her 
nature,  she  no  doubt  thought  she  loved  the  wealthy  young 
suitor  on  whose  advances  her  mother  evidently  looked  with 
so  much  favor.  Her  after-life  proved  that  it  was  a  cruel 
sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of  Mammon  :  her  best  feelings  were 
outraged  by  coarseness  and  cruelty  ; ,  the  common  rights  and 
amenities  due  to  a  wife — to  a  woman,  sensitive  and  refined — 
were  rudely  trampled  upon  ;  she  was  reproached  and  ridi- 
culed on  account  of  her  religion,  and  constantly  annoyed  by 
acts  of  petty  tyranny.  It  is  written,  "  that  all  things  work 
together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God,"  and  doubtless 
the  severe  trials  of  Mrs.  Chaplain,  under  the  disciplining 
hand  of  her  Heavenly  Father,  thus  wrought  out  good  for 
her,  strengthened  in  her  soul  the  upright  purpose,  made  her 
spirit  pure,  patient,  lovely;  and  calling  forth  the  nobler 
elements  of  her  character,  fitted  and  prepared  her  for  the 
arduous  work  she  afterwards  accomplished,  that  of  pro- 
viding for  her  young  family,  and  training  them  up,  unas- 
sisted, save  by  the  blessing  of  God,  for  stations  of  usefulness 
and  honor.  When,  by  the  bankruptcy  of  Mr.  Chaplain,  his 
family  was  left  without  a  home  and  penniless,  the  mother 
roused  her  energies  and  took  upon  herself  the  burden  of 
their  support.  With  courage  and  resolution,  she  looked  at 
her  position  and  formed  her  plans.  Some  distant  relatives 
of  her  father,  Colonel  Lyman,  who  were  wealthy,  resided  in. 


MRS.    CHAPLAIN.  261 

Boston  :  to  them  she  made  known  her  situation  and  wishes, 
and,  by  their  favorable  aid  and  patronage,  she  was  eligibly 
established  as  mistress  of  a  boarding-house,  in  a  central  part 
of  the  city. 

There,  in  arduous  and  severe  labors,  no  less  than  in  judi- 
cious plans  and  efforts,  her  ample  energies  were  successfully 
applied  to  the  maintenance  and  education  of  her  children. 
There  were  deep  struggles  with  poverty,  there  was  the 
breaking  down  of  pride  ;  for,  in  her  country  home,  hers  had 
been  a  commanding  position  ;  but  these  things  she  endured 
and  overcame,  in  the  humble  spirit  and  with  the  strong 
faith  of  the  Christian.  The  younger  children  were  sent  to 
the  excellent  schools  so  justly  the  pride  of  Boston,  and  the 
services  of  the  elder  made  available  in  different  ways.  Two 
sons  were,  after  a  time,  placed  with  a  goldsmith,  and  became 
masters  of  that  lucrative  trade.  The  two  daughters  wrought 
with  their  needles,  with  industry  and  ingenuity,  and  Were 
soon  able  to  provide  for  their  own  wants  ;  and  availing 
themselves  of  the  advantages  of  education  .within  their 
reach,  subsequently  became  accomplished  teachers.  Char- 
lotte, the  elder,  a  girl  of  strikingly  fine  appearance,  was  in 
her  childhood  unlovely  in  temper,  and,  like  her  father, 
sometimes  peevish,  and  frequently  overbearing  and  selfish. 
But  these  faults  of  her  natural  disposition  she  was  enabled, 
by  divine  grace,  to  conquer  so  fully,  that  as  a  young  lady 
she  became  as  truly  engaging  in  character  as  in  person,  and 
united  in  a  rare  degree  the  sweet,  lowly  virtues  and  graces 
with  a  fine  queenly  bearing  and  noble  dignity,  peculiarly 
charming.  She  became  the  wife  of  a  man  of  eminent 


262  HOME. 

worth  and  respectability,  and,  surrounded  by  her  lovely 
young  family,  deservedly  enjoys  no  small  share  of  earth's 
richest  blessings.  The  younger  sister,  the  gentle  and  lovely 
Emily,  ever,  from  early  childhood,  the  darling  of  the  house- 
hold, was  always  delicate  in  constitution  and  health  :  she 
died  young,  and  died  most  happily,  leaving  behind  her  a 
sweet  savor  of  the  power  and  blessedness  of  the  religion  of 
Christ.  There  were  two  younger  sons  :  of  these,  one  fills  a 
professor's  chair  •  the  other  lives,  a  prominent  and  useful 
Christian,  in  the  city.  Thus,  during  all  these  years,  this 
heroic  mother  had  struggled  on,  patiently  meeting  and 
overcoming  every  obstacle,  till  she  saw  all  her  children 
pious,  honored,  and  happy.  In  words  describing  another, 
"  her  good  sense,  Assiduity,  tenderness,  and  vigilance  over- 
came every  obstacle  ;  and  as  the  richest  reward  of  a  mo- 
ther's solicitude  and  toil,  she  had  the  happiness  of  seeing 
her  children  come  forward  with  a  fair  promise  into  life, 
filling  the  sphere  allotted  to  them  in  a  manner  equally 
honorable  to  themselves  and  to  the  parent  who  had  been 
the  only  guide  of  their  principles,  conduct,  and  habits." 
What  greater  reward  for  a  mother  ! 

The  besotted  husband  and  father  she  supported,  mainly, 
from  their  first  removal.  *  He  hung  as  an  incubus  on  her 
steps,  a  constant  source  of  grief  and  mortification.  At  first 
he  obtained  a  little  stall  in  the  market,  and  purveyed  some- 
what for  the  comfort  of  the  family  ;  but  old  habits  and 
fresh  temptations  subjected  him  to  their  debasing  thrall,  and 
bound  him  in  a  willing  chain,  until  at  length  he  was  arrested 
for  debt.  By  the  exertions  of  his  family  he  was  soon  libe- 


MRS.    CHAPLAIN.  263 

rated,  but  again  he  plunged  into  excesses,  and,  for  some 
offence  against  the  law,  was  lodged  in  the  common  jail. 

After  some  years,  Mrs.  Chaplain  obtained  a  divorce  from 
her  unworthy  husband,  and  his  children  subsequently  placed 
him  in  the  household  of  a  poor  cousin  in  his  native  Way- 
laud,  amply  providing  for  his  support  and  comfort.  There 
he  still  lives,  the  decrepit  wreck  of  his  own  vicious  habits, 
a  mournful  monument  of  the  evils  of  self-indulgence.  A 
proper  control  first  of  his  temper,  then  of  his  appetites, 
might  have  prolonged  to  him  health,  wealth,  and  loving 
friends  ;  but  the  adage  is  thus  again  verified,  "  A  man's 
worst  foes  are  often  within  himself."  After  the  toilsome 
pilgrimage  up  life's  rugged  hill,  Mrs.  Chaplain's  evening  is 
spent  upon  its  tranquil  summit  ;  for, 

«  Rightly  it  is  said 

That  we  descend  into  the  vale  of  years  ; 
Yet  I  have  thought  that  we  might  also  speak, 
And  not  presumptuously,  I  trust,  of  age 
As  of  a  final  eminence,  a  throne 
That  may  be  likened  unto  his, 
Who  in  some  placid  day  in  summer  looks 
Down  from  mountain-top." 

Respected  and  beloved  by  many  friends,  and  tenderly 
cherished  by  her  grateful  children,  she  resides  in  the  luxu- 
rious homes  of  her  prosperous  sons,  whose  names  are  well 
and  honorably  known. 

In  the  shifting  turns  of  life,  my  early  friend,  Abby  Lyman, 
and  myself,  have  at  different  times  enjoyed  much  pleasant 
companionship,  not  only  in  Wayland,  but  in  Boston,  in 
which  place  I,  too,  in  the  providence  of  God,  afterwards 


264 

found  a  home.  It  is  now  many  years  since  we  have  met ; 
we  shall  not  probably  meet  again  on  the  shores  of  time,  but 
a  future  communing  will,  I  trust,  be  ours,  when  we  shall 
"sit  together  in  heavenly  places,"  in  a  world  of  blessedness, 
peace  and  lore. 

"  Slewed  are  the  pure  la  heart." 


SOWING   AND   REAPING.  265 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

SOWING      AND      REAPING. 

"  All  ye  who  run  in  Folly's  race, 

To  win  a  worthless  prize — 
Learn  from  the  simple  tale  we  trace, 
Where  true  contentment  Itea  1" 

IN  connection  with  the  Chaplains,  whose  story  has  been 
narrated  in  the  last  chapter,  another  family  rises  to  my 
recollection,  also  neighbors,  who  lived  at  about  an  equal 
distance  from  my  home  in  another  direction.  To  my  mind, 
the  different  fortunes  of  these  two  families,  contrasted,  form 
a  history  both  marked  and  instructive.  Let  me  briefly 
trace  that  of  the  Rosses. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  would  speak,  both  families  were 
rich,  and  exerted  much  sway  in  their  immediate  neighbor- 
hood. Esquire  Ross  was  a  tanner,  and  had  a  large  and 
flourishing  business.  He  possessed  a  wonderful  facility  for 
making  money  flow  into  his  own  coffers,  and  had  acquired  a 
handsome  property  in  Yalley  Brook.  Some  points  in  his 
character,  as  well  as  circumstances,  resembled  those  of 
Moses  Chaplain,  wfiose  churlishness,  even  when  young, 
gained  him  the  appellation  of  the  "  Western  Bear."  Esquire 
Ross,  too,  was  not  unfrequently  stern  in  manner,  surly  and 
12 


266  HOME. 

curt  in  words,  and  overbearing  to  those  in  his  employ. 
When  seeking-  to  secure  some  end,  however,  he  could  be 
blaud,  even  facetious  and  merry.  He  was  strictly  tempe- 
rate in  bis  habits,  passably  intelligent,  and  possessing  much 
natural  shrewdness,  he  wielded  no  small  influence  in  town 
affairs  ;  but  he  was  regardless  of  principle,  and  his  heart 
was  utterly  steeled  against  the  necessities  of  the  poor,  or 
the  interests  of  others,  when  in  conflict  with  his  own. 

In  spite  of  these  dark  shades  in  his  character,  however, 
he  was  better  than  his  wife  ;  for,  with  equal  lack  of  right 
principle,  and,  if  possible,  greater  selfishness,  she  was  igno- 
rant, little-minded,  and  excessively  vain,  constantly  exacting 
the  homage  of  others  to  their  various  displays  of  wealth. 
The  absence  of  a  moral  sense  of  right,  and  the  felt  obliga- 
tion of  duty  as  a  principle  of  action,  was  lamentably  appa- 
rent in  the  guidance  of  her  household.  Their  eldest  was  an 
idiot,  but  they  had  several  fine  children,  who,  with  the  early 
influence  of  right  motives,  might  have  been  trained  up  to 
good  and  noble  impulses,  and  have  possessed  a  strength  of 
moral  character  able  to  defy  the  seductive  temptations  of 
youth.  Lessons  of  some  kind,  children  will  inevitably  learn ; 
habits  of  mind,  either  good  or  bad,  will  surely  be  formed — 
while  we  think  not  of  it,  impressions  may  be  dropped  into 
the  mind  of  a  child  like  seed  in  a  fertile  soil.  The  teachings 
of  Mrs.  Ross,  both  by  instruction  and  example,  fostered 
pride  of  heart,  and  frivolous  ostentation  of  wealth,  and  con- 
tempt and  supercilious  demeanor  towards  others  less  favored 
in  fortune  than  themselves.  We  mingled  more  or  less  in 
the  usual  social  and  neighborhood  courtesies  ;  our  children 


SOWING   AND   HEAPING.  267 

went  to  the  same  school,  and  played  together,  and  in  such 
limited  circles  the  influence  of  each  person  is  correctly  rated, 
and  usually  tells,  too,  in  its  effect  upon  the  others. 

She  would  say  to  a  child  when  going  from  home  to  visit, 
or  even  when  going  to  church — 

"  Now,  hold  up  your  head  ;  you  are  dressed  like  a  pink, 
better  than  any  other  little  girl,  and  your  father  is  the 
richest  man  in  town.'' 

Such  teaching,  from  a  parent,  brought  forth  its  fruit  in 
the  ready  soil  of  the  heart. 

She  was  a  fond  and  careful  mother  in  respect  to  the  out- 
ward comfort  of  her  children,  and  especially  as  to  their  ap- 
pearance in  the  eyes  of  others  ;  but  while  their  bodies  were 
fed  and  clothed  sumptuously,  evil  and  noxious  weeds  were 
early  nurtured  in  their  too  pliant  hearts.  "  Bad  habits  are 
the  thistles  of  the  heart,  and  every  indulgence  of  them  is  a 
seed  from  which  will  spring  up  a  new  crop  of  weeds."  A 
natural  consequence  was,  that  the  young  Rosses  thought 
their  own  opinions,  their  own  dresses,  their  own  possessions 
of  whatever  sort,  superior  to  those  of  any  or  all  of  their 
associates.  A  ludicrous  instance  of  this  was  shown  in  the 
expression  of  one  of  the  little  boys  while  one  day  visiting  a 
playmate.  The  graveyard  was  near,  and  they  had  gone  to 
amuse  themselves  by  reading  the  lettering  upon  the  stones, 
when  some  trifling  altercation  arose,  and  little  Master  Ross 
ran  pouting  off  by  himself,  and  taking  his  seat  astride  upon 
a  tall  stooe,  he  exclaimed, 

"  I  don't  care — my  grandfather's  gravestone  is  bigger 
than  your  grandfather's  gravestone  is." 


268  HOME. 

Almost  a  caricature  upon  the  absurd  points  upon  which 
superiority  is  often  claimed  in  older  circles. 

The  Sabbath — that  moral  safeguard — was  with  this 
family  a  day  of  pleasure-seeking  and  idle  roaming.  To 
church,  indeed,  they  usually  went,  and  experienced  the  gra- 
tification of  attracting  much  general  notice  ;  but  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day  was  devoted  to  riding  or  visiting — their 
children  being  left  to  follow  such  amusements,  as  their  fancy 
dictated.  In  fruit  time,  their  apprentices  and  workmen, 
young  men  and  lads,  with  their  sons — a  noisy  company — 
would  frequently  on  Sunday  pass  my  cottage,  on  their  way 
up  the  hill,  to  regale  themselves  with  some  choice  fruit  from 
"  Widow  Coke's  orchard,"  making  no  secret  of  their  pur- 
pose, nor  deigning  to  ask  permission. 

The  conscientious  observance  of  the  Sabbath,  I  have  ever 
noticed,  acts  as  the  strong  bulwark  of  morals  and  religion, 
and  as  a  wall  of  defence  against  temptations  to  evil.  On 
the  contrary,  let  the  obligations  of  holytime  be  disregarded, 
and  the  day  be  given  up  to  idleness  and  recreation,  and  a 
gate  is  opened  to  vice  and  irreligion  in  every  form. 
Thoughts  on  Sunday  should  be  the  best  and  most  effective 
of  any  during  the  week  ;  good  thoughts  enter  the  heart 
most  easily  and  most  deeply  then,  and  with  least  disturbing 
influence  from  the  world. 

Few  minds  are  unobservant  of  the  many  wonderful  turns 
in  human  life — unthought  of — unnoticed,  perhaps,  by  the 
busy  actors  in  the  scene — by  which  the  Sovereign  Arbiter 
of  great  and  small  among  men,  disposes  of  families  in  the 
working  of  His  providence. 


SOWING    AND   RKAPING.  269 

The  dealings  of  God  in  the  history,  of  families  and  indivi- 
duals, as  well  as  of  nations,  are  often  mysterious  to  us,  in- 
scrutable in  purpose,  and  as  if  governed  by  chance  ;  yet  a 
retrospective  view  shows  us  a  clear  and  constant  connection 
between  character  and  destiny.  The  family  exists,  as  such, 
only  in  this  world,  and  although  personal  accountability  is 
to  be  referred  to  eternity  alone,-  yet  who  can  doubt  that 
parents  and  children,  brothers  and  sisters,  are  dealt  with 
here,  according  as  they  have  severally  metk  their  mutual 
relations  and  obligations.  In  the  subsequent  career  of  the 
children  of  Esquire  Ross,  this  may  be  distinctly  noted.  For 
some  time  all  went  prosperously  with  them  ;  their  wealth 
enabled  them  to  flourish  in  pomp  and  splendor,  equally 
feared  and  caressed,  though  truly  loved  and  esteemed 
by  few.  But  a  change  came  :  Pamela,  a  sweet  child,  the 
youngest  and  loveliest  of  their  blooming  circle,  and  not  long 
after  the  youngest  boy,  also  an  uncommonly  tine  child,  were 
both  removed  by  death.  Their  idiot  son,  always  a  source 
of  great  mortification  to  the  parents,  became,  on  reaching 
adult  age,  very  troublesome  and  unmanageable,  displaying 
extremely  low  and  brutal  propensities,  so  that  he  was  the 
fear  and  terror  of  the  neighborhood.  There  were  two  sons 
besides  ;  the  elder  of  these  disgraced  himself  by  effecting 
the  ruin  of  a  poor  servant  girl  in  his  own  father's  house,  and 
when  exposure  came,  denied  his  guilt,  and,  abetted  by  his 
haughty  family,  traduced  the  girl  and  loft  her  to  her  fate. 
The  younger  son,  while  a  mere  lad,  plunged  into  the  worst 
and  vilest  excesses,  and  became  notorious  as  a  common  thief 
and  vagabond,  and  in  early  manhood  died  miserably,  no  one 


270  HOME. 

knew  where,  even  his  own  family  apparently  taking  no  no- 
tice of  his  death,  for  his  name  had  ceased  for  some  time  to 
be  mentioned  in  his  father's  house.  I  well  remember  him  as 
a  lively,  high-spirited,  and  handsome  boy,  the  favorite  of  his 
mother.  She  did  not  live  to  know  his  sad  career  and  mise- 
rable end.  She  fell  into  lingering  ill-health,  without  herself 
apprehending  any  danger  ;  while  others  marked  her  as  the 
victim  of  consumption,  she  shut  her  eyes  to  Ijer  increasing 
weakness  and  hectic  symptoms,  still  cherishing  the  hope  of 
returning  health  ;  her  portion  was  in  this  world,  and  she 
could  not  bear  the  unwelcome  thought  of  death.  At  the 
very  last,  she  died  in  her  chair,  almost  with  the  words  on 
her  lips — "I  can  not  die  now  ;  I  will  not  die  ;  save  me, 
doctor  1"  As  the  words  floated  away  on  the  air,  a  parox- 
ysm of  coughing  stopped  her  breath  for  ever  ! 

Three  daughters  were  left  ;  Mary,  the  eldest,  was  a 
showy  girl,  with  a  brilliant  complexion  and  fine  eyes  ;  she 
had,  too,  many  superficial  accomplishments,  and  possessed 
good  natural  powers,  with  some  shrewdness  like  her  father  ; 
but  the  lack  of  moral  principle  led  her  into  a  fatal  mistake 
in  respect  to  that  matter  justly  considered  of  greatest  mo- 
ment to  woman,  and  which,  perhaps,  more  than  any  other, 
displays  her  true  qualities  of  heart. 

She  had  gained  the  affections  of  a  young  physician,  an 
honorable,  high-minded  man.  They  were  pledged  in  mar- 
riage and  the  preliminaries  arranged,  .when  she  chanced,  at 
one  of  her  gay  visits,  to  fall  in  company  with  a  dashing 
young  merchant  from  a  distant  village,  reputed  as  wealthy. 

He  was  attracted  by  Mary's  beauty  and  lively  manners, 


SOWING   AND    REAPING.  271 

and  his  attentions  being  well  received,  he  pursued  them  ; 
his  vanity  was  gratified  by  her  evident  favor,  and  with  a 
mischievous  desire  to  supersede  her  love,  and  exhibit  his 
own  superior  attractions,  he  continued  his  assiduities,  and 
became  a  regular  visitor.  The  designing  girl  blinded  the 
eyes  of  her  affianced  lover  by  various  deceits  and  subter- 
fuges, for  some  time  receiving  the  visits  of  both  gentlemen. 
On  one  occasion,  the  two  were  at  her  house  at  the  same 
time,  she  adroitly  managing  to  share  her  company,  alter- 
nately, with  each.  At  the  close  of  the  evening,  the  uncon- 
scious dupe  of  her  treachery  took  his  leave  in  good  faith, 
and  with  full  confidence  in  her  affection  ;  the  ensuing  day 
he  received  from  her  a  short,  unfeeling  note  of  dismission  ; 
thus  she  ruthlessly  cast  away  the  true  affection  of  a  noble- 
hearted  man. 

She  soon  after  married"  her  new  lover,  and  in  little  more 
than  a  year  she  found  herself  the  wife  of  a  ruined  man — a 
spendthrift,  dissolute  and  worthless  ;  his  wealth  was  wasted 
by  excess,  and  he  had  no  longer  money  or  character,  while 
her  life  was  embittered  by  his  ill  treatment  ;  for  as  their 
union  was  not  founded  on  mutual  respect  and  esteem,  neither 
was  it  cemented  by  enduring  affection,  and  her  life  passed 
in  a  vain  struggle  of  wounded  pride  to  keep  up  the  appear- 
ance of  gentility,  and  maintain  a  precarious  and  doubtful 
position  among  the  gay  and  fashionable.  Her  sister,  near- 
est in  age,  Martha,  a  small,  dark-complexioned,  black-eyed 
girl,  was  by  tar  the  most  estimable  of  the  family  ;  she  was 
early  united  to  an  old  schoolmate  of  her  childhood,  a  well- 
meaning  man,  with  whom,  indeed,  she  lives  happily,  but  his 


272  HOME. 

inefficiency  and  feebleness  of  character  and  purpose,  led  to 
their  frequent  removal  from  place  to  place,  each  time  be- 
coming poorer,  till  at  length  they  went  to  a  manufacturing 
village,  and  there  the  daughter  of  the  proud  Mrs.  Ross, 
with  her  husband — they  had  no  children — became  daily 
operatives  in  a  cotton  mill.  One  other  daughter  remained 
— the  sparkling  Julia  ;  she  most  resembled  her  mother  in 
person  and  character,  and  coming  upon  the  stage  after  her 
father  had  acquired  large  wealth,  full  scope  was  given  to 
her  vain  pride  and  love  of  display. 

Lively  and  witty,  the  youngest  of  the  family,  petted  and 
caressed,  she  deemed  that  the  ascendency  of  wealth  and 
station  screened  her  name  from  the  effect  of  each  folly  and 
extravagance,  and  after  a  giddy  course  of  gaiety,  she  gave 
her  hand,  while  yet  quite  young,  to  a  man  of  equivocal 
reputation,  a  broker  of  the  city,  one  of  those  characters  who 
always  have  money  to  spend,  but  no  one  can  divine  by  what 
means.  And  now,  with  an  establishment  in  a  style  of  lavish 
profusion,  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  Boston,  the  gay  Julia 
thought  herself  highly  favored,  and  like  the  silken  butterfly, 
lived  only  in  the  thoughtless  present  ;  her  associates  were 
the  very  froth  of  the  heartless  and  corrupt  city  circles  of 
gaiety — the  mere  devotees  of  pleasure,  and  their  baneful 
influence  took  effect  ;  in  two  or  three  years  from  their  mar- 
riage, it  began  to  be  whispered  abroad  that  Julia  Ross  and 
her  husband  had  separated  ;  soon  it  was  known  that  she, 
with  her  child,  had  sought  a  home  with  her  dressmaker,  and 
was  ostensibly  supporting  herself  by  her  needle.  Vague  ru- 
mors there  were,  of  visits,  evening  rides,  and  costly  presents; 


SOWING   AND   EEAPING.  273 

bat  the  particulars  of  the  sad  story  of  shame,  no  one  knew ; 
her  thoughtless  levity,  and  the  gratification  of  early-fostered 
vanity,  opened  a  too  ready  avenue  to  the  seductive  ap- 
proaches of  vice. 

Henceforward  she  held  no  communication  with  her  sisters, 
nor  ever  visited  her  father's  house,  and  not  long  after  she 
went  far  from  her  friends,  and  the  scenes  of  her  girlhood,  to 
a  southern  city,  and  her  fate  is  involved  in  obscurity. 

Esquire  Ross  still  lives,  as  grasping  and  worldly  as  ever, 
soured  in  temper — an  unhappy  old  man.  His  large,  empty 
house,  is  not  enlivened  by  the  cheerful  presence  of  dutiful 
children,  nor  by  the  happy  voices  of  grandchildren. 

The  garden  has  fallen  into  decay,  the  house  looks  weather- 
beaten  and  gloomy  ;  it  is  as  if  the  frown  of  God  rests  upon 
the  household  who  "  acknowledge  not  Him  in  all  their 
ways." 


12* 


2T4  HOME. 


CHAPTER   XLYL 

"NOT    LOST,    BUT    GONE    BEFORE." 

"  The  life  which  is,  and  that  which  Is  to  come, 
Suspended  hung  in  such  nice  equipoise, 
A  breath  disturbs  the  balance." 

IT  was  not  many  months  after  the  death  of  my-  husband, 
when  time,  the  healer,  had  but  just  begun  to  subdue  the 
poignancy  of  my  bitter  grief,  that  I  was  called  to  a  new 
sorrow.  Grace — our  beloved  sister,  the  fairest  of  the  flock — 
was  soon,  we  plainly  saw,  to  exchange  her  earthly  home  for 
a  heavenly  one.  She  had  always  been  delicate  in  constitu- 
tion, and  after  her  marriage  she  had  gradually  faded,  till  at 
length  consumption  was  written  on  her  pallid  brow  and 
flushed  cheek,  in  unmistakable  characters. 

Her  kind  and  indulgent  husband,  Mr.  Cunningham,  strove 
by  every  means  in  his  power  to  avert  the  threatened  blow. 
By  the  advice  of  able  physicians,  ie  took  her  to  the  sea 
shore,  accompanied  by  the  loving  Hester,  whose  gentle  min- 
istrations were  ever  grateful  to  the  languid  invalid,  in  the 
fond  hope  that  the  invigorating  breezes  might  renew  the 
wasting  strength  in  her  feeble  frame.  But  all  failed  of  the 
desired  effect,  and  she  longed  to  see  once  more  her  native 
hills. 

She  came  home  by  slow  and  easy  stages,  and  for  a  few 
days  she  rallied,  and  our  hopes  were  again  raised  for  her 


NOT  LOST,  BUT  GONE  BEFORE.         275 

recovery.  Again  she  sank,  and  then  we  knew  it  was  too 
late  to  hope.  We  watched  her  sadly,  but  at  last  she  said, 
"  I  am  content  to  die,"  and  left  her  sorrowing  husband  with 
the  care  of  two  motherless  babes.  While  yet  in  apparent 
health,  she, had  made  her  peace  with  God,  and  we  felt  that 
now  the  tired  spirit  had  gone  home. 

It  has  been  said  that  when  Death  enters  a  house,  he 
takes  care  to  leave  the  door  upon  the  latch,  that  he  may  be 
able  to  come  in  again  before  the  close  of  the  year.  Soon 
after  our  darling  Grace  was  laid  in  the  tomb,  we  were 
hastily  summoned  home  to  see  our  father  for  the  last  time. 
For  some  years  past  he  had  been  partly  deprived,  by 
paralysis,  of  the  power  of  speech,  and,  unable  longer  to  per- 
form the  arduous  labors  of  the  farm;  he  had  spent  much  time 
at  the  homes  of  his  married  daughters,  in  whose  children  he 
took  a  lively  interest. 

He  did  not,  like  some  aged  persons,  turn  away  in  disgust 
from  all  the  concerns  of  life,  because  no  longer  able  to  be  a 
prominent  actor  upon  its  busy  stage.  There  is  sometimes 
a  species  of  self-deception,  it  is  to  be  feared,  in  the  apparent 
love  of  solitude,  the  silence,  the  seeking  of  retirement,  in 
which  to  fit  for  heaven,  after  the  best  years  have  all  been 
spent  in  the  service  of  the  world.  Is  it  not  often  the  result 
rather  of  selfishness  and  dissatisfaction,  an  unwillingness  to 
see  those  younger,  and  possibly  less  wise  and  worthy,  stand- 
ing in  the  place  once  theirs?  My  father  felt  that  there 
was  still  a  good  which  he  might  perform,  though  small,  not 
unimportant,  and  in  the  endeavor  he  no  doubt  found  a 
reward.  He  was  the  consoler  of  the  sick  and  distressed, 


276  HOME. 

the  friend  and  instructor  of  the  young,  to  whom  he  was 
ever  ready  to  impart,  with  cheerful  kindness,  the  many 
lessons  he  had  learned  by  long  experience  and  observation. 
His  counsels  were  bestowed,  not  chidingly,  not  with  harsh 
reproofs,  not  in  a  dictatorial  or  arrogant  manner,  but  with 
a  look  and  tone  that  left  no  room  to  doubt  that  his  only 
motive  was  to  benefit  those  whom  he  addressed. 

Latterly,  his  increasing  infirmities  had  confined  him  more 
closely  at  home,  and  in  our  frequent  visits  we  usually  found 
him  seated  in  his  comfortable  arm-chair,  with  the  Bible  upon 
his  knee,  or  lying  upon  the  little  table  beside  him  ;  ever 
cheerful  and  placid,  his  face  expressing  in  every  lineament 
the  peace  of  heaven. 

At  the  mournful  summons  now,  we  gathered  around  his 
couch.  We  were  all  there.  Willy  and  Royal,  now  tall, 
athletic  youths  ;  Bessy  and  Hester,  Mary  and  I  ;  while 
Rhoda,  now  almost  as  lovely  as  had  been  our  Grace,  held 
the  hand  of  the  dying  man. 

With  a  blessing  for  each,  spoken  in  faltering  accents,  he 
gave  us  one  more  look  of  affection,  then  closed  his  eyes, 
and  we  stood,  the  living  with  the  dead. 

k(  A  beauty  fair  and  deep  lies  around  the  hollow  eye  and 
the  sunken  cheek,  breathed  from  the  calm  air  of  the 
untroubled  spirit  that  has  heard,  resigned,  the  voice  that 
calls  it  away  from  the  dim  shades  of  mortality." 


PARTINGS   BY   THE    WAY.  277 

CHAPTER    XLYII. 

PARTINGS    BY   THE    WAY. 

"  A  shadowy  band 

Rise,  like  remembered  music  on  our  eara, 

And  vanished  hope,  whose  arch  of  promise  spanned, 

The  coming  years." 

IT  was  at  about  this  time  that  we  heard  of  the  death  of 
our  aunt,  Lois  Pettys.  The  elder  sister,  Aunt  Grizzel,  had 
some  years  before  paid  the  debt  of  nature.  She  was  of  a 
full,  plethoric  habit,  and  was  suddenly  carried  off  by  a  vio- 
lent congestion  on  the  brain.  But  the  spare  frame  and 
light,  elastic  person  of  Aunt  Lois  seemed  to  resist  alike  the 
encroachments  of  disease  and  the  infirmities  of  age. 

After  the  death  of  her  sister,  she  confined  herself  almost 
wholly  to  the  precincts  of  her  antique,  and  now  nearly 
dilapidated,  dwelling  ;  her  spectre-like  figure  scarce  waking 
an  echo  as  she  wandered,  restless  and  disquieted,  through 
the  vacant  and  gloomy  apartments,  till  gradually  sinking, 
she  faded  away  like  a  summer  cloud,  and  died  peacefully  in 
the  arms  of  her  maid,  the  kind  and  faithful  Sally. 

There  were  many  heirs  to  their  ample  and  well-hoarded 
property,  and  at  a  cold  and  formal  meeting  of  the  distant 
i.!. nives  concerned,  the  sale  of  the  old  mansion  and  its 
MiiTO'.inding  lands  was  determined  upon,  on  account  of  the 
i.-:!i--rwis»e  insuperable  difficulties  in  the  way  of  an  amicable 
and  <  quitable  distribution  of  the  effects. 


278  HOME. 

Had  the  farm,  however,  been  left  undivided,  a  few  more 
years  would  have  enhanced  tenfold  the  amount  realized,  the 
adjacent  city  having  steadily  extended  street  after  street, 
until  now  the  ample  grounds  are  occupied  by  closely-built 
tenements,  and  the  house  itself  replaced  by  dwellings  of 
more  modern  structure,  and  the  only  glimpse  of  no.ture 
afforded  is  by  a  trim  garden  here  and  there. 

My  mother,  their  niece,  received  her  portion  partly  in 
antiquated  dresses  and  household  gear  ;  yet  a  sufficient 
amount  fell  to  her  lot,  in  more  available  form,  to  yield  her  a 
pretty  little  income  of  her  awn.  After  the  death  of  my 
father,  she  took  up  her  residence  with  her  daughter  Rhoda. 
The  defects  of  her  character,  before  delineated,  were  not 
amended  by  age,  but,  on  the  contrary,  they  were  augmented 
by  her  infirmities  and  decreased  mental  vigor  ;  for  if  there 
be  a  lack  of  proper  self-control,  and  an  habitual  yielding  to 
the  impulses  of  selfish  feelings  or  passions  in  the  prime  and 
maturity  of  life,  there  will  exist  little  power  to  curb  the 
violence  of  temper,  or  to  restrain  the  bent  to  self-indulgeuce 
in  the  waning  strength  of  advancing  years. 

The  husband  of  Rhoda,  often  annoyed  and  fretted  by  the 
petulance  and  meddlesome  disposition  of  his  mother-in-law, 
was  once  heard  to  declare  to  one  of  the  family  friends  that 
the  property  she  had  brought  into  his  hands  would  weigh 
lightly  indeed,  in  comparison  with  the  daily  petty  vexations 
of  her  troublesome  ways. 

I  have  as  yet  hardly  spoken  of  the  course  of  events  as 
relating  to  my  two  brothers,  Willy  and  Royal,  during  these 
intervening  years,  and  I  will  here  refer  more  particularly  to 


PARTINGS   BY   THE   WAY.  279 

their  history.  Of  Royal,  indeed,  I  can  give  but  few  items 
of  interest,  as  he  was  for  many  years  so  separated  from 
the  rest  of  his  family,  that  we  could  know  but  little  of  him. 

He  liad  a  roving  disposition,  and  a  great  desire  to  see  the 
world,  and  left  Wayland  at  an  early  age,  determined,  as 
the  saying  is,  to  "  seek  his  fortune." 

Of  course  he  went  first  to  Boston,  and  finding  a  good 
opening  in  a  ship-chandlery,  was  for  a  time  employed  in  that 
establishment ;  but  becoming  tired  of  the  drudgery  and 
confinement,  he  soon  left  the  business,  and  shipped  as  a  com- 
mon seaman  on  one  of  the  European  packet-ships.  After 
the  vicissitudes  common  to  a  seafaring  life,  but  always  main- 
taining a  character  of  strict  honor  and  probity,  he  became 
master  of  a  sloop  coasting  on  our  own  shores,  and  acquired 
a  comfortable  competency.  He  never  married,  though 
when,  in  his  later  years,  he  used  to  visit  the  homes  of  his 
brother  and  sisters,  he  would  often  declare  that  he  meant  to 
give  up  going  to  sea,  and  settle  down  as  they  had  done. 
But  though  upon  his  first  return  to  the  comparative  ease 
and  quiet  of  a  life  upon  shore,  the  contrast  gave  him  delight, 
yet  the  power  of  habit  was  strong,  and  again  and  again  pre- 
vailed— with  his  love  of  the  excitement  of  the  sea — to  draw 
him  away  for  "just  one  more  trip,"  as  he  would  say. 

Poor  fellow  1  the  future  of  which  he  dreamed  never  came, 
for,  in  a  violent  gale  off  Cape  Hatteras,  his  vessel  was 
wrecked,  and  he  met  a  watery  grave,  while  yet  in  the 
strength  and  vigor  of  manhood. 

Willy  was  always  a  favorite,  not  only  with  his  partial 
sisters,  but  with  all  the  young  people,  as  he  grew  up.  He 


280  HOME. 

had  a  quick,  ready  wit,  a  jovial  and  social  disposition,  and 
was  withal  a  most  excellent  singer  ;  in  this  resembling  our 
Mary  and  Hester,  with  the  latter  of  whom,  as  nearest  in 
age,  he  was  always  most  closely  associated. 

In  those  days  the  cup  of  exhilarating  drink,  by  which  so 
many  bright  hopes  have  been  laid  low,  was  freely  passed  at 
every  convivial  gathering.  Willy's  agreeable  qualities  in 
this,  his  early  youth — that  turning  period  so  important,  so 
perilous  often,  before  manhood  stamps  itself  upon  the 
brow — led  him  into  imminent  danger  from  this  cause.  A 
round  of  singing-parties,  sleigh-rides,  and  balls,  during  the 
winters,  placed  before  him  temptations  frequent  and  strong. 
My  father  became  exceedingly  apprehensive  for  his  safety, 
and  added  to  his  prayers  faithful  counsel  and  advice,  ear- 
nestly striving  to  disentangle  him  from  the  web  of  the 
destroyer  seemingly  gathering  around  him.  He  sought  for 
Willy,  too,  the  added  influence  of  his  elder  sisters,  confiding 
to  Bessy  and  me  his  fears  for  the  gay  young  man.  Bessy 
wrote  him  a  letter,  full  of  sisterly  affection,  but  strong  in  its 
warnings  and  entreaties  that  he  would  in  time  take  heed  to 
his  steps. 

Willy  never  alluded  to  the  letter,  though  we  knew,  that 
he  received  and  read  it.  I,  too,  sought  and  found  aa  oppor- 
tunity, in  private,  to  plead  with  him  his  duty  to  our  father 
and  to  himself,  and  that  the  long-cherished  hopes  so  fondly 
placed  on  him  might  still  be  realized.  I  besought  him  to 
turn  with  manly  decision  from  any  use  of  the  deadly  beve- 
rage so  universal  then,  and  so  destructive  in  its  effects  upon 
every  thing  good  and  noble. 


PAKTINGS   BY   THE   WAY.  281 

These  efforts  were  not  in  vain.  Before  unconscious  of 
bis  peril,  he  now  woke  in  some  measure  to  the  insidious 
nature  of  his  dangerous  habits  ;  and  when,  not  long  after, 
our  revered  and  beloved  father  was  laid  in  his  last  resting- 
place,  our  dear  brother  stood  forth  a  man  in  his  strength. 
He  was  now  the  representative  of  him  who  was  gone,  the 
stay  and  support  of  the  diminished  household. 

From  the  jovial,  gay,  and  pleasure-loving  young  man, 
careless  of  consequences,  seeking  no  worthy  aim  in  life,  he 
stepped  forth,  as  it  were,  at  once,  from  the  influence  of  his 
merry  companions.  Standing  upon  the  threshold  of  active 
life,  he  entered  upon  its  duties  and  responsibilities  eminently 
fitted  for  usefulness  by  true  moral  worth,  joined  to  his  really 
fine  mental  powers,  and  above  all,  by  intelligent,  devoted 
piety  ;  for  through  the  rich  mercy  of  God,  the  loss  of  an 
earthly  father  was  the  means  of  leading  him  to  an  Heavenly 
one,  through  faith  in  the  Redeemer  of  men. 

About  this  time  he  became  acquainted  with  a  beautiful 
girl  who  had  recently  come  among  us,  and  in  a  year  or  two 
after  our  father's  death  he  brought  her,  a  lovely  bride,  to 
our  paternal  homestead.  Alas  !  beauty,  youth,  and  love, 
coald  not  avail  to  shield  her  from  the  shafts  of  disease,  and 
in  one  short  year  Consumption  had  secured  his  prey,  and 
deprived  her  infant  son  thus  early  of  the  priceless  blessing 
of  a-  mother's  love.  But  be  was  welcomed  to  a  warm  heart, 
and  was  not  left  to  know  the  full  magnitude  of  his  loss. 
Hester,  as  I  have  before  intimated,  had  no  family  ties  save 
those  connected  with  her  childhood's  home.  To  Willy  she 


282  HOME. 

had  ever  been  as  a  guardian  angel,  and  to  her  care  he  now 
confided  his  child. 

She  loved  the  little  stranger  with  a  warmth  of  feeling 
only  second  to  that  of  a  mother,  and  as  he  passed  from  in 
fancy  to  youth  and  manhood,  he  well  repaid  her  for  her  care 
and  kindness,  by  his  almost  filial  respect  and  affection.  She 
was  soon  his  only  guardian,  for  our  brother  never  recovered 
his  health  or  spirits  after  the  loss  of  his  beloved  companion, 
and  at  the  age  of  only  four  years  the  little  Joseph  was  an 
orphan. 

Thus,  again  and  again,  did  death  visit  our  household, 
taking  from  us  the  darling  sister,  the  loving  parent,  the 
brother  with  whom  we  had  enjoyed  so  much  domestic  and 
fraternal  intercourse,  the  youthful  wife  and  mother. 

"  So  star  by  star  declines, 

Till  all  are  passed  away — 
As  morning  high  and  higher  shines, 

To  pure  and  perfect  day. 
Nor  sink  those  stars  in  endless  night, 
But  hide  themselves  in  Heaven's  own  light." 

"  Call  not  the  mourner  unhappy  who  lays  his  dear  ones 
below  the  earth,  and  returns  to  the  home  where  their  voices 
are  to  be  heard  never  more. 

"  That  affliction  brings  forth  feelings  unknown  before  in 
his  heart,  calming  all  turbulent  thoughts  by  the  settled 
peace  of  the  grave." 


HOME.  283 


CHAPTER   XLYIII. 

"  The  sorrows  of  others 
Cast  their  shadow  over  me." 

"  It  is  true,  there  are  shadows  as  well  as  lights ;  clouds,  as  well  as  sunshine ; 
thorns,  as  well  as  roses  ;  but  much  happiness,  after  all." 

SOME  events  in  the  life  of  our  sister  Mary  now  awakened 
all  our  sympathy  for  her  and  her  husband  ;  for  life  is  made 
up  of  alternate  good  and  ill  fortune,  "  clouds  as  well  as  sun- 
shine," and  Mary,  who  had  been  so  severely  disciplined  in 
her  youth,  was  not  without  lesser,  but  very  painful  anxie- 
ties, in  her  later  marriage. 

On  the  marriage  of  his  mother  with  Deacon  Dudley,  Sam 
Lyman  had  taken  the  family  homestead,  and  assumed  the 
payment  of  his  sisters'  portions.  Finding  this  difficult  from 
the  slow  proceeds  of  the  farm,  he  sought  the  more  lucrative 
and  available  profits  of  trade,  and  accordingly  established 
himself  in  a  store  in  the  flourishing  village  of  Westmead. 
The  old  farm,  once  so  productive,  being  left  to  the  manage- 
ment of  tenants  and  hirelings,  rapidly  diminished  in  thrifti- 
ness  and  value,  and  bis  mercantile  transactions,  after  some 
years'  trial,  proving  disastrous,  he  was  forced  to  return  to 
Wayland.  For  a  few  years  he  struggled  with  debts  and 
pecuniary  difficulties,  extremely  embarrassing  to  hia  high 
spirit  and  nice  sense  of  honor  ;  but  he  bent  his  every  effort  to 


284:  HOME. 

the  satisfying  of  the  just  demands  of  his  creditors,  and  though 
his  dwelling  was  for  the  time  being  the  abode  of  poverty, 
and  his  family  subjected  to  many  privations,  yet  he  manfully 
persevered  in  his  course  of  industry  and  self-denial,  until  his 
object  was  attained,  and  he  was  again  enabled  to  give  them 
the  comfort  to  which  they  were  earlier  accustomed. 

Mary's  character  shone  out  brightly  during  this  period. 
She  had  always  the  sunshine  of  hope  in  her  heart,  a  cheer- 
ful smile  on  her  face,  and  words  of  encouragement  on  her 
lips.  She  shunned  no  toil  ;  she  was  ever  ready  to  aid  her 
husband  by  doing  what  was  in  her  power,  however  unwel- 
come the  task. 

I  remember  a  little  incident,  trifling  in  itself,  but  illustra- 
ting the  annoyances  of  this  part  of  my  sister's  life. 

She  was  accustomed  frequently  to  take  the  grain  for  the 
family  use,  herself,  to  the  mill  ;  and  on  one  of  these  occa 
sions — it  was  a  warm,  bright  day — was  slowly  tracing  the 
road  through  Yalley  Brook  to  Father  Coke's  gristmill,  not 
far  from  my  own  dwelling. 

She  was  seated,  with  old  and  faded  dress,  in  a  rickety 
wagon,  partly  filled  with  the  bags  of  grain,  when  she  saw 
approaching,  an  elegant  looking  man  with  a  handsome  equi- 
page. As  he  checked  his  speed,  while  the  jaded  and  plod- 
ding farm-horse  toiled  painfully  by,  she  suddenly  recognized 
him  as  William  Homer,  the  dashing  beau  of  her  lively  girl- 
hood. He  stopped  short,  exclaiming,  in  his  surprise, 

"  Can  this  be  Mary  Leland  ?" 

Her  face  flushed,  but  with  a  sudden  burst  of  wifely  pride, 
she  answered, 


285 

"  No,  sir  !  it  is  Mrs.  Mary  Ly titan  !'' 

He  looked  earnestly  at  her,  with  a  half  sorrowful  expres- 
sion, and  passed  on. 

When  my  sister  came,  shortly  after,  as  was  her  custom, 
to  iny  house,  to  wait  while  the  miller  was  performing  his 
task,  the  tears  of  bitter  mortification  too  plainly  showed,  as 
she  told  me  of  the  rencontre,  that  poverty  had  thus  again 
made  her  feel  keenly  the  pressure  of  his  iron  grasp.  But 
she  soon  recovered  her  usual  equanimity,  and,  indeed,  such 
a  yielding  to  the  feelings  of  wounded  pride  was  a  very  unu- 
sual occurrence  with  her.  She  was  by  no  means  unhappy, 
even  in  her  privations,  for  so  steadily  did  she  look  at  the 
bright  side  of  every  circumstance  of  her  lot,  that  the  darker 
shade  was  in  great  measure  hid  from  her  vision. 

In  their  five  rosy-cheeked  little  girls,  both  Mary  and  her 
husband  felt  themselves  rich  indeed,  in  the  midst  of  their 
pecuniary  trials.  She  used  to  say  to  them,  in  their  childish 
perplexities — ''  Keep  up  good  heart,  girls,  nothing  comes  of 
crying  " — and  her  husband  would  add,  in  his  peculiar  tone 
of  seeming  pomposity — "  Yes  !  be  cheerful,  ray  daughters  ! 
ever  be  cheerful  !  Cheerfulness  is  one  of  the  cardinal  vir- 
tues 1"  , 
*  After  these  many  clouds  and  adverse  winds,  their  evening 
sun  shone  out  bright  and  clear,  and  in  later  years,  when 
Mary  recounted  to  her  beautiful  daughters  more  of  her 
earlier  sorrows  than  even  her  sisters  had  ever  known,  she 
could  also  point  them  to  a  Heavenly  Father's  guiding  hand 
as  the  constant  and  hidden  source  of  all  her  strength. 
They  grew  up  a  most  lovely  family— in  the  hope  and 


286  HOME. 

brightnes  of  their  youth  becoming  humble,  faithful,  devoted 
Christians.  Their  early  experience  of  privation,  toil,  and 
self-denial,  formed  habits  of  self-reliance,  while  it  nurtured 
in  them  the  germs  of  all  else  that  is  most  truly  excellent, 
for  idleness  and  self-indulgence  not  only  blunt  the  powers  of 
intellect,  but  deaden  in  the  heart  the  better,  nobler  sympa- 
thies of  our  nature — "  all  the  sweet  charities  of  life." 

In  after  life,  they  have  proved  themselves  capable  of  rising 
above  the  petty  thoughts  and  aims  of  inferior  minds,  of  fill- 
ing with  dignity  exalted  stations,  or  of  adorning  or  elevating 
those  more  lowly. 


THE   WIDOW.  287 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

THE    WIDOW. 

"So  well  is  the  harp  of  human  feeling  strung,  that  nothing  but  a  crash  that 
breaks  every  thing  can  wholly  mar  Its  harmony." 

MEANTIME  I  had  many  cares  and  labors,  but  I  accepted 
with  cheerfulness  the  burden  laid  upon  me.  Little  by  little 
the  grace  and  mercy  of  God  roused  up  in  me  what  I  had 
before  seemed  not  to  possess,  the  sense  and  wisdom  to  com- 
prehend my  arduous  duties  and  responsibilities,  and  to  act 
as  the  necessity  of  the  case  required. 

My  husband's  property  was  entangled  with  that  of  his 
father  and  brothers,  and  Father  Coke  urged  that  the  estate 
should  be  settled  without  reference  to  strangers. 

Distillery,  carding,  saw-mill,  and  farm,  all  were  at  loose 
ends  ;  my  very  home  was  in  the  hands  of  my  father-in-law, 
for  no  deed  had  been  given  by  him.  He  loved  to  retain  in 
his  possession  whatever  had  once  been  his.  There  was 
much  cupidity  and  grasping,  but  it  was  overruled  by  my 
kind  Heavenly  Father,  so  as  even  to  work  to  my  advantage, 
for  it  excited  an  interest  and  care  for  me  with  all  my  friends 
and  neighbors.  One  man — with  whom  I  had  little  acquaint- 
ance— self-moved,  sought  a  favorable  opportunity  of  con- 
versing with  Father  Coke,  and  obtained  from  him  statements 
which  secured  the  title  of  my  home  to  me  and  my  children. 


288  HOME. 

An  old  Quaker,  from  a  distance,  after  liberally  settling 
his  account,  inquired  of  me,  "  Does  thy  rich  father-in-law- 
deal  justly  by  thee  ?"  with  so  much  feeling  and  kindness  in 
his  face,  that  the  tears  rose  to  my  eyes. 

It  had  been  my  desire,  from  the  first,  to  enter  my  hus- 
band's family  as  a  daughter  and  sister  :  one  with  them  iu 
interest  and  affection.  I  had  been  successful  in  allaying 
prejudices,  and  winning  their  confidence  and  esteem,  and  the 
five  years  of  my  married  life  had  passed  most  pleasantly  in 
this  regard. 

Now,  more  than  ever,  was  I  desirous  that  the  delicate 
matter  of  settlement,  with  its  complicated  business  and  con- 
flicting interests,  might  be  happily  completed,  without  dis- 
turbing these  pleasant  relations  between  us. 

Some  two  or  three  years  were  occupied  in  adjusting  the 
various  interests  involved  in  the  estate,  small  as  it  was ;  and 
previous  to  the  final  disposition  of  affairs,  a  trial  came 
which  I  little  expected. 

The  Coke  family  were  extremely  reluctant  to  suffer  the 
mills  to  pass  out  of  their  hands  into  the  possession  of 
strangers  :  many  turns  and  shifts  had  been  proposed  to 
prevent  this  result,  and  much  discussion  of  the  subject  had 
taken  place  at  different  times.  Father  Coke  alleged  that 
he  could  not  purchase  the  property  of  me,  because  he  had 
made  recent  investments  in  a  new  enterprise  just  commenced 
in  the  town  ;  neither  were  any  of  the  younger  brothers  able 
to  assume  such  obligation  on  their  own  account. 

They  accordingly  desired  me  still  to  retain  the  property 
in  my  own  possession,  subject  to  their  control,  proposing  to 


THE   WIDOW.  289 

share  the  proceeds  equitably  in  common.  •  But  during  the 
past  year  the  mills  had  been  carried  on  for  me  by  one  of  the 
brothers,  and  the  profits — before  a  considerable  revenue — 
had  been  almost  wholly  absorbed  in  the  management  of  the 
concern,  and  I  was  convinced  that  the  sale  of  the  mills,  and 
consequent  separation  of  interests,  alone  could  render  the 
late  flourishing  business  of  my  husband  of  any  avail  for  our 
support,  or,  indeed,  secure  harmony  of  feeling  with  all 
parties. 

While  these  things  were  in  progress,  Mother  Coke  came 
to  see  me  one  morning.  With  Mother  Coke,  especially, 
I  had  been,  since  my  marriage,  on  the  most  kind  and  cor- 
dial terms.  She  had  many  admirable  qualities  ;  she  was 
entirely  sincere  and  straight-forward  in  all  her  ways,  with 
great  activity  and  energy  ;  ready  for  any  and  every  work 
of  kindness  or  necessity,  and  was  quite  notable  in  the  vari- 
ous appointments  of  her  large  household,  with  its  arduous 
duties  and  labors.  Not  gifted  with  the  nicer  shades  of 
feeling  or  perception,  she  was  yet  high-spirited  and  ambi- 
tious, the  aggrandizement  of  her  family  being  her  chief  aim. 
It  was  she  who  had  desired  a  more  wealthy  connection  for 
her  son  Charles;  but  whatever  feeling  of  that  kind  she 
might  once  have  cherished,  had  long  passed  away. 

Her  visit  at  this  time  surprised  me,  because,  unlike  her 
usual  short  stay,  and  hasty  conference  on  some  domestic 
concern,  she  sat  almost  silent  for  a  time,  and  then  entered 
into  the  discussion  of  business  affairs,  in  which,  indeed,  she 
was  quite  competent,  although  seldom  interposing  her 
opinions  unasked.  She  now  spoke  of  the  settlement  of  the 
13 


290  HOME. 

estate,  enlarging  upon  the  fact,  that  Father  Coke  had  been 
the  original  sole  proprietor  of  the  mill-seats  of  Valley  Brook, 
and  wishing  theycould  still  all  be  retained  in  the  family. 

I  replied,  as  I  had  expressed  before,  that  it  would  suit  me 
well,  if  Father  Coke,  or  one  of  the  sons,  would  become  the 
owner  of  the  property,  paying  me  as  might  be  convenient, 
to  aid  in  the  support  of  myself  and  my  children.  I  then 
reminded  her  that  I  had  as  yet  received  no  avails  from  the 
mills,  though  they  were  in  good  repair  and  unencumbered. 
She  answered,  that  "  the  business  had  been  poorly  managed, 
and  the  dues  not  promptly  collected,"  which  was  true 
enough  ;  "  but,"  said  she,  with  a  meaning  smile,  "  there  is  a 
way  in  which  you  can  keep  the  mills  and  secure  the  profits, 
and  your  children  be  well  provided  for.  Cannot  you  guess?" 
continued  she,  in  answer  to  my  questioning  look.  "  You 
and  Reuben  can  make  a  match  of  it.  He  proposed  the  plan 
to  me  yesterday.  He  is  anxious  for  it ;  and  I  will  be  bold 
to  say,  if  he  is  my  son,  that  he  will  make  a  good  husband, 
and  be  a  kind  father  to  the  children." 

I  felt  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  blow. 

"Does  Reuben  know  of  your  speaking  to  me  of  this, 
mother  ?"  said  I,  the  tears  filling  my  eyes  and  almost  chok- 
ing my  utterance.  * 

"  No  ;  he  has  gone  away  to-day,  but  I  thought  I  would 
tell  you  about  it,  so  that  you  might  have  time  to  think  it 
over  before  he  saw  you." 

The  first  quick  feeling  of  resentment  had  passed  away, 
and  there  only  remained  the  wish  to  annihilate  the  thought, 
if  possible.  I  hoped  Reuben  would  never  come  himself  upon 


THE   WIDOW.  291 

the  errand,  and,  with  more  emotion  than  I  would  willingly 
have  shown,  I  said,  "Then  do  not  let  him  know  I  ever  had 
such  a  thought  brought  to  my  mind." 

Motber  Coke  seemed  much  surprised  at  the  feeling  I 
betrayed.  She  had  no  doubt  supposed  I  should  view  the 
subject  in  the  same  business-like  way  as  herself.  Little 
more  was  said — what,  I  hardly  knew — and  she  soon  took  her 
leave.  When  I  was  left  alone,  my  tears  flowed  long  and 
unrestrained  ;  they  wrought  relief.  After  the  troubled 
waters  subsided,  my  mind  became  calm,  and  I  sought  to 
enter  into  the  feelings — natural  enough,  perhaps — of  Mother 
Coke  ;  not,  indeed,  with  atiy  less  repugnance  to  the  point 
proposed,  but  that  I  might  fairly  and  honestly  view  the  mo- 
tives that  prompted  it — motives  of  kindness  to  myself,  as 
well  as  desire  for  the  promotion  of  the  supposed  family 
interest. 


HOME. 


CHAPTER    L. 

REUBEN    COKE. 

REUBEN  COKE  was  some  years  younger  than  was  my 
Charles,  and  resembled  him  somewhat  in  form  and  features, 
though  little  in  his  general  bearing. 

Good  looking,  in  truth,  he  might  be  deemed,  yet  he  had 
a  sort  of  stolid  air,  and  a  sluggish,  heavy  manner,  too  plainly 
marking  that  the  finer  and  higher  attributes  of  soul  were 
wanting — were  overborne  by  the  more  sensuous  qualities, 
or  at  most  by  that  lower  type  of  intellect  which  has  its  com- 
pass and  scope  centering  in  self. 

His  kindly  good  nature,  steady  habits,  and  honest,  up- 
right character,  I  could  value  and  respect,  bat  a  hallowed, 
endeared  union  with  my  husband's  brother — with  Reuben 
Coke  !  The  very  idea  was  odious  1  as  discordant  as  were 
our  sympathies  and  taste,  our  aims  in  life,  and  especially  our 
views  in  reference  to  the  things  of  religion. 

As  the  subject  recurred  to  my  mind  through  tHe  day,  I 
began  to  fear  I  had  not  been  sufficiently  explicit  with  Mother 
Coke  to  preclude  the  repetition  of  the  disagreeable  topic  ; 
nor  was  I  wrong  in  the  apprehension.  The  next  morning  I 
had  but  just  dispatched  my  little  son,  with  his  companion 
Energine  (of  whom  more  hereafter)  off  to  school,  when 
Reuben  Coke  made  his  appearance.  My  brothers-in-law 


REUBEN   COKE.  293 

were  familiar  guests  at  my  cottage,  coming  and  going  with 
entire  freedom  and  without  ceremony  ;  but  now  Reuben's 
constrained  and  hesitating  manner  left  me  little  difficulty  in 
divining  that  he  had  come  with  an  unusual  errand.  I  was 
finishing  my  few  household  avocations,  and  nearly  ready  to 
inspect  the  contents  of  my  workbasket  ;  my  little  ones  were 
playing  around  me  in  the  long  family  room  which  opened 
directly  upon  the  small  plat  of  grass  separating  the  house 
from  the  road. 

My  visitor  sat  for  some  time  saying  little,  but  fondling 
my  two  little  girls,  and  listening  to  their  prattle. 

After  a  while  he  began  to  speak  of  the  contemplated  sale 
of  the  mills,  the  disposal  of  the  property,  and  then  of  his  own 
circumstances  and  present  plans.  Full  of  his  own  thoughts 
and  wishes,  and  seemingly  unconscious  of  all  else,  he  rose 
and  stalked  backwards  and  forwards  across  the  room,  appa- 
rently intent  on  seeking  the  most  fitting  way  to  unfold  ^he 
purpose  of  his  visit.  There  were  some  long  poles  suspended 
from  hooks  near  the  ceiling  at  the  top  of  the  room,  on 
which  were  hung  some  strings  of  apples  and  sundry  long 
strips  of  pumpkin,  in  process  of  drying  for  winter  use.  Reu- 
ben, as  he  rose  from  his  chair,  had  donned  his  high,  bell- 
crowned  hat,  and  this  just  reaching  up  to  the  drying  apples 
and  pumpkins,  at  each  turn  dislogded  some  of  the  pendant 
fruit,  and  brought  it  to  the  floor  as  he  paced  up  and  down 
the  long  room.  I  picked  them  up  successively,  till  all  the 
hanging  contents  of  the  poles  were  at  length  transferred  to 
the  table  at  the  side  of  the  room.  He  was  wholly  uncon- 
scious of  what  he  was  doing,  and  I  was  myself  too  much 


engrossed  by  the  unpleasant  topic  of  our  conversation  to  pay 
much  note  at  the  time  to  the  ludicrous  performance  or  to 
the  fate  of  my  goods  ;  but  afterwards  I  laughed  heartily  at 
sight  of  the  confused  heap  of  dried  edibles  which  burdened 
the  table. 

At  length  our  painful  interview  was  ended  ;  and  let  me 
do  him  the  justice  to  say  that,  in  all  sincerity — and  he  was 
incapable  of  dealing  otherwise — he  did  not  propose  a  union 
and  offer  his  hand  as  a  convenient  joining  of  interests 
merely,  or  as  a  sordid  scheme  for  the  securing  of  a  mutual 
advantage  ;  but  he  told  me  in  his  own  plain,  blunt  manner, 
that  he  "was  sure  he  should  like  me  better  for  a  wife  than 
any  one  else  he  knew  " — that  "  I  had  long  stood  very  high 
with  him."  On  my  side,  I  endeavored  to  meet  him  on  his 
own  ground,  treating  the  subject  in  a  sincere  and  very  prac- 
tical way.  I  tried  to  show  him  the  uudesirableness  of  such 
a  connection  on  various  grounds,  and  succeeded  in  making 
clear  to  his  mind  the  utter  impossibility  of  my  acceding  to 
his  plan  ;  softening  my  decisive  assertions,  from  regard  to 
his  feelings,  as  much  as  I  could  consistently  with  perfect  sin- 
cerity and  my  determination  not  to  be  misunderstood. 

He  displayed  no  anger,  nor,  indeed,  much  emotion  of  any 
kind,  beyond  his  first  embarrassment.  The  subject  was 
dropped,  and  the  trifling  constraint  and  unpleasant  feeling 
arising  from  it  soon  passed  away.  The  mills  were  sold,  and 
all  our  affairs  were  amicably  settled,  with  the  continued 
kindness  of  the  family,  who  were  ever  after  ready  to  aid  me 
in  every  emergency,  especially  showing  the  greatest  tender- 
ness for  my  fatherless  little  ones. 


295 


CHAPTER    LI. 

THE    HEIRESS. 

"  Fy  !  let'u  a'  to  the  wedding  !" 

OLD  Soso. 

"  She  \»  so  young,  my  8on  !** 

"  Yes,  mother,  but  she  is  so  pretty  I»» 

"  She  knoweth  not  how  to  do  work,  or  to  guide  the  house,  or  to  leave  off  her 
girlish  plays  !" 

"  Yes,  mother  !  but  she  sings  go  sweetly,  and  laughs  so  merrily,  I  know  you  will 
like  her  I" 

"  You  think  every  one  must  like  her,  because  yon  do ;  but  I  fear  me  I  I  fear  me  1" 

"  Well,  mother— but  she  is  rich !'» 

"  Is  she  richT    Art  sure  of  that*    Well,  well !  my  son  I  have  thine  own  way  I  I 

dare  say  she  will  learn  to  be  a  very  proper  wife !" 

OLD  PLAT. 

SHORTLY  after  the  visit  above  described,  ray  brother-in- 
law,  Reuben,  was  abundantly  consoled  by  a  sudden  tarn  of 
fortune,  by  means  of  which  a  lucky  prize,  apparently,  was 
thrown  into  his  hands  in  the  person  of  a  romantic  girl,  both 
pretty  and  rich,  not  yet  quite  out  of  her  teens,  who  came 
with  her  invalid  mother  to  Wayland,  and  was  spending  some 
time  with  an  aunt.  Reuben  first  met  her  by  accident,  and 
the  pretty,  innocent-looking  face,  and  frank  school-girl  man- 
ners of  the  young  lady,  solicitous  to  please,  at  once  fasci- 
nated liis  simple,  honest  heart.  His  courtship  sped  well,  for 
the  managing  aunt — our  old  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Goldiug — 
thought  the  sou  of  the  rich  Mr.  Coke  no  bad  match  for  her 
niece,  now  just  from  boarding-school,  and  ready  to  make  her 


296  HOME. 

fortane  in  tne  world.  The  young  lady  herself  was  by  no 
means  averse  to  the  so  devoted  attentions  of  a  veritable 
lover — her  first  conquest.  I  first  heard  of  the  matter  fronc 
Mother  Coke  ;  she  came  over  with  her  knitting — a  rare 
occurrence — to  sit  with  me  one  afternoon.  "  Have  you 
heard  any  reports  about  Reuben  ?"  asked  she,  thus  intro- 
ducing the  subject.  I  replied  that  I  had  not.  "  Haven't 
you  heard  of  the  Widow  Lovell  and  her  daughter  ?  The 
mother  is  a  sister  of  Mr.  Golding.  She  has  come  to  stay 
there  awhile  for  her  health." 

I  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  existence  of  any  such  persons. 
She  continued  :  "  Her  husband  died  two  years  ago,  and  left 
her  a  large  property.  There  is  only  one  child  ;  her  name 
is  Angeline.  She  has  just  finished  her  education,  and  is 
handsome  as  a  doll,  and  a  real  heiress." 

"  And  what  about  Reuben  ?"  said  I,  beginning  to  guess 
at  the  drift  of  affairs. 

"  Why,  he  has  begun  to  pay  his  addresses,  and  we  think 
it  will  be  a  match,"  she  replied. 

"  The  mother  or  the  daughter  V  I  half  mischievously 
asked. 

"  Oh,  the  daughter,  to  be  sure  1  the  mother  is  always 
sick,  and  the  most  notional  person  you  ever  saw  ;  but 
Angeline  is  a  very  pretty  girl.  Reuben  will  not  try  for  a 
widow  again,"  she  added,  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

I  told  her  I  was  very  glad — as,  of  course,  I  was  most 
sincerely  so — to  hear  of  Reuben's  good  fortune  ;  hoping  the 
youthful  "heiress"  would  prove  a  fitting  companion  for 
him.  The  circumstance  of  her  reputed  wealth  touched  the 


THE    HEIRE68.  207 

weak  point  with  Mother  Coke,  and  she  was  highly  gratified 
with  the  golden  prospects  of  her  son. 

Angeline  Lovell  was  indeed  pretty  and  interesting  as  a 
young  miss,  "  but  half  a  woman,  half  a  child."  She  gave 
her  consent  for  an  early  day,  and  became  a  wife,  thinking, 
no  doubt,  far  more  of  lovers'  vows  and  bridal  favors,  than 
of  future  cares,  duties,  or  responsibilities.  I  looked  upon 
my  new  sister  with  a  feeling  of  sympathy  almost  akin  to 
pity,  light-hearted  and  pretty  as  she  was  ;  for  I  saw  in  her 
a  character  at  once  weak  and  immature,  which  greatly 
needed  the  development  of  careful  culture,  and  earnest, 
serious  preparation  for  the  humble  and  prosy,  yet  indispen- 
sable occupations  of  every-day  life.  She  might  thus  have 
been  fitted  to  bear  her  burdens  easily,  and  might  have 
passed  smoothly  along  on  the  common  current,  filling  her 
place  usefully,  and  with  happiness  to  herself  and  others. 

Poorly  adapted,  as  she  realty  was,  to  the  practical  duties 
and  homely  cares  devolving  upon  a  wife  and  the  mistress  of  a 
family,  her  temper,  naturally  amiable  (so  far  as  it  could  be 
said  to  have  any  character  at  all),  became  peevish  and 
irritable.  Her  health  failed,  and  she  grew  nervous  and 
weak-spirited.  She  lacked  both  energy  and  capacity  to 
manage  her  household,  and  everything  suffered  neglect  and 
went  to  decay. 

Little  by  little  their  comfortable  property  wasted  away. 
Her  husband,  never  very  enterprising  or  active,  grew  dis- 
pirited and  indolent,  until  he  who  had  married  the  "  heiress" 
became  the  poorest  of  the  family.  Not  only  destitute  of 
outward  means  of  comfort,  they  were  poor  in  health,  poor 
13* 


298  HOME. 

in  a  spirit  of  active  exertion,  and  poor  in  hope  for  the 
future — theirs  was  poverty  indeed  ! 

I  have  before  alluded  to  the  investments  of  Father  Coke 
which  had  employed  his  available  funds  in  a  new  enterprise 
As  these  outlays  were  the  means  of  some  important  and 
disastrous  results,  I  will  explain  them  more  fully.  Olive 
Coke — the  one  nearest  in  age  to~  my  Charles,  and  a  very 
dear  sister  to  him — had  married  a  physician,  Dr.  Blake, 
one  of  those  restless  men  always  full  of  schemes  and  new 
enterprises.  Olive  herself  was  a  gentle,  loving  girl.  I  had 
often  heard  ray  husband  say  that  amid  all  the  faults  and 
follies  of  childhood,  or  the  waywardness  of  youth,  he  could 
not  recollect  a  single  instance  of  disagreement  between 
them.  This  endeared  her  to  me,  as  well  as  her  own  loveli- 
ness and  excellence.  Her  husband  was  beginning  to  secure 
a  good  practice,  but  was  not  contented  with  his  slow  gains, 
and  at  length  started  the  plan  of  a  glass  factory,  which  he 
declared  Would  soon  raise  the  quiet  and  obscure  town  of 
Wayland  into  a  village  of  some  importance,  boasting  at 
least  one  branch  of  flourishing  business. 

As  usual,  he  entered  upon  his  project  with  the  utmost 
zeal,  and  pursued  it  with  unremitting  ardor  and  activity, 
inspiring  many  of  the  staid  people  of  Wayland  with  a  por- 
tion of  his  own  confidence  and  enthusiasm.  Money  was 
invested  with  large  hopes  of  success,  and  the  flattering  pro- 
mise of  liberal  returns.  Fortunes  were  to  be  made  in  a  day 
by  taking  shares  in  the  new  enterprise  of  glass-making. 

No  one,  save  the  originator  of  the  scheme,  Dr.  Blake,  en- 
listed in  it  more  warmly,  or  invested  more  largely  than  Fa- 


THE   HEIRESS.  299 

ther  Coke.  There  was  an  auspicious  commencement,  and 
for  a  time  all  went  on  swimmingly  ;  but  a  few  brief  months 
of  actual  experiment  conducted  the  too  sanguine  projectors 
to  utter  failure,  as  might  have  been  predicted  from  their 
total  want  of  experience  in  the  business,  and  the  difficulty 
of  procuring  competent  workmen.  Father  Coke's  loss  was 
several  thousands,  and  Dr.  Blake's  little  all  was  swallowed 
up.  He  soon  after  removed  to  the  State  of  New  York. 
This  separation  of  our  dear  Olive  from  her  friends  was  a 
very  sad  one  to  us  all.  They  were  going  in  utter  poverty 
to  encounter  the  hardships  of  a  new  region  then  little  known, 
with  two  little  girls,  the  eldest  not  yet  three  years  old. 

But  Dr.  Blake  soon,  fortunately,  found  a  good  location 
near  the  pleasant  town  of  Kingston,  on  the  Hudson,  where, 
rendered  wise  by  experience,  he  steadily  practised  his  pro- 
fession, and  in  time  gained  a  competency,  and  was  able  to 
surround  his  now  large  and  flourishing  family  not  only  with 
comfort,  but  with  all  the  appliances  and  refinements  of  do- 
mestic and  social  life. 

Father  Coke  could  not  be  reconciled  to  the  disastrous 
issue  of  his  unfortunate  speculation.  He  was  deeply  morti- 
fied that  he  had  so  foolishly  adventured  his  carefully-kept 
gains,  and  was  perpetually  bemoaning  his  loss,  wondering 
at  his  rashness  and  the  blindness  which  could  not  have  fore- 
seen the  result.  His  health  began  to  suffer  through  the 
uneasiness  of  his  mind,  and  he  became  so  ill  as  to  be  unable 
for  some  weeks  to  attend  to  his  ordinary  business,  but  sat 
silent  and  gloomy,  brooding  over  his  misfortune. 

His  sons,  who  at  first  had  been  quite  cast  down  by  the 


300  'HOME. 

loss  of  the  property,  began  to  be  still  more  troubled  that 
their  father  took  it  so  much  to  heart.  Mother  Coke  endea- 
vored to  divert  his  mind  by  company  and  visits,  hoping  that 
by  free  converse  with  his  friends  and  neighbors  his  thoughts 
might  revert  to  their  accustomed  channels,  so  that  he  might 
find  interest  as  usual  in  his  various  plans  of  business  ;  for  he 
was  by  no  means  a  ruined  man  in  worldly  affairs,  but  pos- 
sessed still  a  very  considerable  property.  He  consented  one 
day  to  visit  with  her  a  family  living  some  three  or  four  miles 
distant.  It  was  near  the  last  of  February.  The  snow  was 
deep  and  gently  falling,  though  the  day  was  mild.  Father 
Coke  seemed  in  tolerable  spirits  and  conversed  with  some 
cheerfulness  ;  but  scarcely  had  they  proceeded  more  than  a 
mile,  just  as  they  were  entering  the  deep  gorge  at  the  foot 
of  Pine  Mountain,  he  appeared  to  be  faint,  the  slackened 
reins  dropped  from  his  hands,  and  he  leaned  heavily  against 
his  wife.  She  quickly  turned  the  horse  about,  to  return 
home,  speaking  to  him  meanwhile  and  seeking  to  revive 
him  ;  but  in  vain — he  was  dead  ! 

Without  a  moment's  warning,  in  the  sleigh  alone  with  his 
wife,  on  the  highway,  his  spirit  had  taken  its  flight,  his  soul 
passed  for  ever  away  from  scenes  of  earth. 

In  indescribable  terror  and  agony  of  mind,  Mother  Coke 
supporting  the  lifeless  body  of  her  husband,  herself  drove 
home  in  the  quickest  possible  time,  each  moment  seeming  an 
hour  !  When  I  arrived  at  the  scene  of  distress  the  dead 
husband  and  father  lay  on  his  bed  with  overcoat  and  boots 
still  on  ;  his  children  were  weeping  around,  in  all  the  confu- 
sion and  dismay  of  sudden  grief  ;  the  stout  young  men,  the 


THE    HEIRESS.  301 

grown-up  daughters,  sobbing  unrestrained  as  the  utter  hope- 
lessness of  restoration  became  evident.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
most^mournful  spectacle  ! — to  me  most  solemn  and  affect- 
ing. What  now  to  him  who  was  gone  were  all  the  trifling 
concerns  of  earth  I  Where  was  now  that  spirit  so  wrapped 
up  in  the  interests  of  the  world,  so  suddenly  ushered,  naked, 
into  another  sphere,  poor  indeed,  without  other  and  more 
enduring  riches  1 


302  HOME. 


CHAPTER    LII. 

LITTLE    HELPS. 

AFTER  the  sale  of  the  mills,  the  income  of  my  farm, 
increased  by  my  own  exertions  in  different  ways,  afforded 
us  a  frugal  living,  while  the  care  and  training  of  my  dear 
children  was  my  great  concern  and  object. 

Soon  after  my  marriage,  we  had  received  a  little  orphan 
girl  in  charge  to  bring  up,  named  Energiue,  of  whom  a  more 
particular  account  will  be  given  in  a  subsequent  chapter. 
She  was  soon  able  to  assist  me  in  various  ways,  and  well  did 
she  afterwards  repay  my  care,  by  a  devoted  affection  on  her 
part  scarce  ever  exceeded  by  a  daughter. 

As  time  wore  on,  my  little  Charles,  too,  became  able  to 
help.  He .  was  a  strong,  manly  little  fellow,  very  capable 
for  his  age,  and  many  a  time  I  have,  with  a  fearful  heart, 
sent  him  to  perform  labors  well  fitting  the  strength  and 
judgment  of  a  lad  of  twice  his  years. 

In  the  pasture  were  many  fine  chestnut  trees,  and  when 
the  frosty  nights  of  autumn  had  begun  to  scatter  their 
fruit,  I  would  go  with  the  children  to  gather  the  brown 
nuts,  that  their  avails  might  procure  for  us  some  needed 
little  comforts. 

My  stout,  active  boy — a  mere  Lilliput  in  stature — would 
climb  the  tree,  venturing  out  to  utmost  limb,  while  Ener- 
gine  and  I  stood  with  a  spread  sheet  to  catch  the .  nuts  as 


LITTLE    HKLI'S.  303 

they  fell ;  my  two  little  girls  meanwhile  filling  their  tiny 
baskets,  and  thinking  it  rare  sport. 

We  had,  too,  a  fine  plantation  of  sugar  maples,  at  some 
distance  from  the  house,  high  up  on  the  hill-side  ;  this  also 
was  made  a  source  of  profit. 

First,  a  man's  services  were  requisite  to  "tap"  the  trees 
and  prepare  the  vessels  for  receiving  the  sap  ;  then,  in  the 
keen,  bright  March  days,  Energine  and  my  trusty  Charles 
would  be  dispatched  to  empty  the  sap-troughs,  and  to 
kindle  a  fire  under  the  kettle  for  boiling.  , 

The  rude  fire-place  was  ready  made,  and  seemed  one  of 
nature's  freaks.  A  large  layer  of  rock,  smooth  and  level, 
projected  horizontally,  resting  upon  a  smaller  ledge  for  sup- 
port, while  at  the  extreme  end  of  this  natural  floor  two 
similar  ledges  lay  transversely  against  the  steep  hill-side, 
leaving  just  space  enough  for  a  large  kettle  to  be  suspended. 
Above  the  whole  were  two  or  three  birch  trees  and  other 
shrubbery,  forming  a  shelter  somewhat  from  the  winds. 
Here  the  sap  was  boiled,  the  two  children  watching  and 
tending  it  day  after  day,  while  I  repaired  frequently  to  the 
spot  to  overlook  them  in  their  labors. 

I  remember  one  day  in  particular,  when  Energine  was 
gone  to  stay  with  a  sick  neighbor,  and  Charles  was  tending 
alone  upon  the  hill — he  may  have  been  nine  or  ten  years 
old — I  had  been  very  busy  in  the  house,  and  had  not  visited 
the  scene  of  operations  that  day,  but  had  sent  my  youngest 
girl,  a  child  of  about  six  years,  with  a  warm  bit  for  her 
brother's  dinner,  and  permission  for  herself  to  stay  with  him 
through  the  afternoon. 


304:  IIOMK.. 

It  grew  late,  and  the  children  did  not  come  home  ;  but  I 
knew  my  little  son  would  stay  to  ever  so  late  an  hour,  if 
the  boiling  syrup  was  at  a  point  unfavorable  to  leave  ;  for 
it  was  his  way  to  finish  whatever  he  undertook  before  leaving, 
if  it  was  possible  to  do  so. 

As  night  shut  in,  cloudy  and  dark,  I  provided  myself 
with  a  lantern  and  proceeded  to  the  place. 

Ascending  -the  hill  in  part  by  the  road,  I  entered  the 
pasture  by  a  narrow  path,  and  passed  through  it.  Then 
crossing  a  small  rivulet,  I  began  to  climb  the  steep  ascent, 
and  soon  perceived  the  fire  lighting  up  the  rocks,  the  bare 
trees,  and  patches  of  snow  beyond,  and  I  saw  the  little 
forms  of  my  children  flitting  back  and  forth  before  it. 

Keeping  carefully  in  the  shadow,  I  gained  the  further 
side  of  the  ledge,  concealing  my  light  under  my  cloak,  and 
stopped  near  a  large  stump,  a  rod  or  two  from  them,  to  see 
whether  they  would  observe  me.  My  little  Anna  was 
capering  from  side  to  side  of  the  rude  floor,  calling  it  her 
house,  and  full  of  lively  talk  and  play,  as  was  her  wont. 

It  was  not  long  before  her  notice  was  attracted  to  my 
dark,  still  figure,  and  she  said  to  her  brother,  "  What  is  it 
that  looks  so  much  like  a  black  man  standing  out  there  ?" 

He  scarcely  looked  up  at  first,  BO  busy  was  he  in  replen- 
ishing his  glowing  fire  with  brushwood,  or  adding  sap  to 
the  boiling  liquor  in  small  quantities  to  temper  its  heat,  his 
thoughtful  young  face  showing  in  the  firelight  that  his  whole 
mind  was  absorbed  by  his  trust. 

My  little  girl  kept  uneasily  watching  me,  and  when  at 
last  I  opened  the  folds  of  iny  cloak  a  little,  so  as  to  suffer 


LITTLE   HELPS.  305 

the  light  to  shine  around  me,  she  became  really  alarmed, 
and  urgently  called  her  brother's  attention. 
.   "  Oh  1"  said   he,  after   a   moment's   scrutiny,  "perhaps 
there  is  a  little  snow  on  that  stump  that  makes  it  look 
light." 

But,  not  satisfied  with  his  own  explanation,  he  continued 
to  look,  and  at  length  descended  his  platform  of  rock  for  a 
nearer  examination.  His  sister  cried  out,  "  Don't  go  1 
Charles  !  don't  go  !"  but  the  brave  little  fellow  approached, 
and  fairly  touched,  before  he  recognized  me. 

"  I  meant  to  know  what  it  was,"  said  be,  when  I  asked 
him  why  he  came  to  me  ;  "  but,  mother,  why  didn't  you 
come  and  let  us  know  you  were  here  ?" 

"  I  wanted  to  see  how  much  courage  you  had,"  I  an- 
swered, "and  to  see  how  you  were  at  work  here  all  alone." 

Great  was  the  joy  to  see  "  mother"  in  the  dark  and  lone- 
liness, and  soon,  putting  out  the  fire,  we  wended  our  way 
home,  and  I,  with  a  happy  and  a  thankful  heart,  laid  down 
to  rest  beside  my  tired  children. 

In  simple  pleasures  like  these,  and  in  the  cheerful  perform- 
ance of  the  little  duties  that  filled  up  the  course  of  my 
retired  life,  I  found  a  quiet  comfort,  and  even  joy,  seldom 
realized  in  a  more  brilliant  and  showy  sphere,  and  which 
could  hardly  be  imagined  by  those  whose  whole  existence 
has  been  spent  in  the  "giddy  round"  of  amusement  and 
festivity. 


306  HOME. 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

PINE     MOUNTAIN     COTTAGE. 

"  What  mournful  tragedies  are  ever  around  us,  flowing  on  unseen,  with  the  per- 
petual under-current  of  human  life,  each  hour  laden  with  mystery  and  sorrows, 
With  floating  wrecks,  we  see,  but  cannot  snatch  from  the  darkening  tide." 

"  A  little  child 

That  lightly  draws  its  breath, 
That  fee's  its  life  in  every  limb, 

What  can  it  know  of  death?" 

THE  history  of  my  own  branch  of  "  our  family  "  would  be 
quite  incomplete,  did  I  fail  to  say  something  more  of  my 
little  orphan  Euergine.  Her  origin  and  subsequent  varied 
life  might  form  the  basis  of  a  most  romantic  tale,  could  it 
be  skillfully  delineated  in  the  delicate  and  fanciful  style  of 
some  imaginative  writer.  But  a  more  plain  and  prosaic 
account  must  suffice  the  less  favored  readers  of  my  humble 
story.  Euergine's  parents  removed  to  Wayland  a  short 
time  before  her  birth,  and  with  their  little  son  of  four  years, 
lived  in  a  house  belonging  to  farmer  Gibbs — a  little  brown 
cottage  standing  just  at  the  foot  of  Pine  Mountain.  The 
thick  chestnut  grove  which  almost  surrounded  the  base  of 
the  mountain,  cast  a  deep  shade  upon  the  roof,  and  gave  the 
dwelling  an  air  of  seclusion — almost  of  gloom.  There  was 
a  mystery  about  Mr  and  Mrs.  Harlow,  for  that  was  the 
name  of  these  people,  which,  while  it  served  to  keep  their 


PINE   MOUNTAIN    COTTAGE. 


'307 


neighbors  from  any  great  degree  of  familiarity  with  them, 
rendered  them  the  more  frequent  subjects  of  conversation 
and  conjecture.  They  had  arrived  by  stage,  and,  as  the 
driver  affirmed,  from  "  York  city,"  and  after  a  few  days' 
stay  at  the  village  tavern,  they  quietly  sought  a  home  in 
the  obscure  dwelling  of  Mr.  Gibbs. 

Little  was  known  of  them  even  after  some  intercourse  had 
worn  off  their  first  reserve. 

There  were  some  marvellous  stories  told  of  rich  dresses  in 
their  trunks,  of  which,  now  and  then,  a  sight  bad  been  ob- 
tained ;  of  some  trinkets  of  value  in  a  little  box  of  rare  and 
antique  workmanship,  which  stood  upon  the  little  table  in 
their  bed-room  ;  but  beyond  these  glimpses  of  former  wealth, 
and  the  shrewd  guesses  to  which  they  gave  rise,  nothing  was 
apparent  of  their  past  history.  None  could  fail  to  observe 
the  contrast,  however,  between  the  delicacy  and  refinement 
of  manner  and  language  of  Mrs.  Harlow  and  the  blunt  good 
humor  of  her  husband  ;  but  all  saw  that  there  existed  be- 
tween them  the  most  perfect,  confiding  affection,  and  that 
each  was  to  the  other  a  whole  world  in  one.  In  a  country 
town  each  person  is  individualized,  and  the  history,  thoughts, 
and  opinions  of  each,  become,  in  some  sort,  the  property 
of  all. 

A  tax  is  levied  upon  the  social,  moral,  and  intellectual 
wealth  of  every  member  of  the  little  community,  that  thereby 
the  whole  may  be  mentally  and  socially  enriched  and  grati- 
fied. They  who  are  totally  unwilling  to  contribute  to  this 
tax  should  not  attempt  to  live  in  the  country. 

Those  larger  objects — those  topics  of  general  interest  and 


308  HOME. 

excitement  which  occupy  the  thoughts  and  attention  of  city 
neighbors,  sufficing  to  employ  the  activity  of  their  minds, 
cannot,  in  the  nature  of  things,  be  removed  to  the  country 
town  ;  while  there  the  same  activity  and  curiosity  will  find 
its  aliment  in  the  doings  and  sayings  of  associates  and 
friends. 

But  to  return  to  my  story.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harlow  gra- 
dually won  upon  the  confidence  and  respect  of  their  neigh- 
bors ;  but  it  was  very  evident  that  Mrs.  Harlow  was  unac- 
customed to  the  primitive  habits  of  a  retired  country  life, 
and  though  she  strove  to  accommodate  herself  to  them,  so 
as  not  to  appear  singular,  yet  it  could  plainly  be  seen  that 
many  things  which  to  others  were  only  trifling  inconveniences 
were  to  her  real  hardships  and  privations  ;  and  though  the 
tender  care  of  her  husband  left  no  room  to  doubt  that  in  her 
marriage  she  had  found  all  she  expected,  it  was  still  easy  to 
see  that  some  secret  and  weighty  sorrow  pressed  down  her 
spirit,  and  at  times  left  the  traces  of  tears  upon  her  pale 
cheeks. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  birth  of  Energine,  that  her 
health  began  to  fail,  and  after  lingering  two  or  three  years, 
it  became  apparent  to  all  around  her  that  she  must  die. 
Still  she  clung  to  life,  and,  day  by  day,  cherished  every  faint 
and  flattering  hope 

Kind  Mrs.  Gibbs  besought  her  to  write  to  her  friends, 
but  she  always  declined  with  a  quiet  dignity  which  effectu- 
ally forbade  inquisitive  remarks. 

But  she  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  and  one  morning,  after 
a  severe  paroxysm  of  pain,  she  requested  pen  and  paper,  and 


PINE   MOUNTAIN   COTTAGE.  309 

with  some  difficulty  wrote  a  few  lines  and  gave  the  note  to 
her  husband  ;  he  added  a  brief  postscript,  and  the  letter 
was  sent.  In  a  few  days,  a  carriage  stopped  at  the  gate 
before  the  little  brown  house,  from  which  alighted  a>  lady 
richly  dressed,  and  of  most  haughty  bearing,  accompanied 
by  a  gentleman  as  stately  and  haughty  as  herself.  It 
was  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Harlow,  with  her  husband.  They 
arrived  only  in  time  to  see  the  poor  sufferer  breathe  her 
last — too  late  for  recognition  or  word.  The  sad  event  ap- 
peared to  give  them  but  little  pain  or  concern  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  appeared  desirous  that  the  funeral  preparations 
should  be  hastened,  that  they  might  immediately  return 
home.  But  a  startling  and  mournful  event  awaited  them. 
While  Mr.  Harlow  was,  next  morning,  caring  for  the  wants 
of  their  mettlesome  horses,  a  sudden  kick  from  one  of  them, 
as  he  was  stooping  down,  felled  him  to  the  ground,  and  he 
was  carried  into  the  house  a  corpse  I  At  first,  even  this 
appeared  to  produce  but  slight  effect  upon  the  proud,  un- 
feeling lady  ;  but  when  she  went  to  view  the  bodies  dressed 
in  the  habiliments  of  the  grave,  and  lying  side  by  side  in 
their  last  slumbers,  the  icy  fountain  at  last  gave  way,  and 
she  gazed  long,  and  with  bitter  tears,  on  the  pale,  cold  faces 
before  her.  No  word  was  spoken,  until  after  some  moments, 
by  a  strong  effort  controlling  her  emotion,  she  wiped  the  un- 
bidden tears,  resumed  her  proud  look,  and  coldly  remarked 
to  her  husband, 

"  My  sister  was  handsome,  but  he  was  a  very  common 


310  HOME. 

Alas  !  for  the  evil  in  the  human  heart !  The  presence 
of  death  itself  cannot  check  its  pride  nor  soften  its  hate  1 

The  two  who  had  manifested  the  most  tender  attachment 
in  life,  were  not  separated  in  death,  but  were  buried  in  the 
same  grave.  Ah  !  many  a  bereaved  mourner  has  craved 
that  blessing,  to  whom  it  nas  yet  been  in  mercy  denied  1 
Their  children,  the  little  George  and  Energine,  were  now, 
indeed,  objects  of  compassion — orphans  at  so  early  an  age, 
and  with  no  friends,  as  it  soon  appeared.  The  brother-in- 
law,  after  ascertaining  that  there  was  nothing  left  which 
would  maintain  tfye  children,  declared  he  should  do  nothing 
for  them  ;  a  decision  in  which  his  wife  fully  acquiesced. 
Giving  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gibbs  a  small  sum  of  money,  they 
recommended  them  to  have  the  two  orphans  placed  in  good 
families,  if  such  could  be  found  to  receive  them,  and  then 
take  for  their  trouble  whatever  was  left  in  the  cottage. 
Thus  summarily  disposing  of  affairs  to  their  own  satisfac- 
tion, the  haughty  couple  again  entered  their  elegant  car- 
riage and  drove  off. 


THE   OKPHAN.  311 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

THE    ORPHAN. 

"  But  is  it  not  a  happy  thing, 

All  fetterless  and  free, 
Like  any  wild  bird  on  the  wing, 
To  carol  merrily." 

"  God  !  who  gayest 
Into  my  guiding  hand  this  wanderer, 
To  lead  her  through  a  world  whose  darkling  paths 
I  tread  with  steps  so  faltering — leave  not  me 
To  bring  her  to  the  gates  of  heaven  alone  I 
I  feel  my  feebleness." 

THE  just  indignation  of  the  people  was  at  once  excited 
at  such  unblushing  outrage  of  the  commonest  feelings  of 
nature,  and  it  was  soon  resolved  that  the  children  should 
be  befriended  by  their  neighbors,  since  thus  cast  off  by 
their  unfeeling  relatives.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gibbs,  having  no 
children  of  their  own,  adopted  the  boy,  who  afterwards 
studied  the  profession  of  law,  and  practised  successfully  as 
an  attorney  for  many  years. 

After  some  hesitation  and  reluctance,  lest  I  should  fail 
in  so  weighty  a  task  (for  my  husband  left  the  decision  of 
the  matter  entirely  to  me),  I  acceded  to  the  urgent  solicita- 
tion of  the  selectmen  of  the  town,  and  the  little  girl  became 
an  inmate  of  our  family.  The  relatives  never  appeared  in 
Wayland  again,  and  I  soon  came  to  regard  the  little  stran- 


312  HOME. 

ger  with  much  affection.  She  was  a  child  of  excellent  dis- 
position, though  somewhat  peculiar  iu  temperament ;  always 
kind  and  loving  to  my  own  little  ones — all  younger  than  her- 
self— and  most  affectionate  to  me,  there  was  yet  wanting  in 
her  mental  constitution  a  balance-wheel,  a  regulator,  ren- 
dering her  liable  to  great  extremes  in  her  feelings.  Some- 
times exalted  to  a  high  pitch  of  perfect  good  humor  and 
gaiety,  she  would,  perhaps,  the  next  hour  be  cast  down, 
dissatisfied  and  sad,  with  no  apparent  cause  sufficient  to 
account  for  the  change.  This  wavering  tendency  caused  me 
no  little  trouble  and  anxiety  for  her.  I  constantly  strove 
to  cultivate  in  her  a  more  equable  and  placid  disposition, 
though  with  but  partial  success.  Yet  she  rarely  failed  to 
engage  the  kindly  interest  of  those  who  knew  her  intimately 
and  saw  the  really  good  impulses  of  her  heart  ;  while  the 
clear  brunette  of  her  complexion,  the  bloom  of  :her  red 
cheeks,  and  her  twinkling  black  eyes,  lighted  up  with  liveli- 
ness and  joyful  good  temper,  made  her  by  no  means  unat- 
tractive to  strangers. 

To  myself  she  became  very  dear,  though  my  patience  was 
often  sorely  tried  with  her  fitful  waywardness  through  the 
years  of  childhood  and  youth.  I  instructed  her,  to  the  best 
of  my  ability,  in  the  usual  avocations  of  household  labors, 
in  most  branches  of  which  she  became  quite  expert,  though 
there  were  some  few  specialities  to  which  she  took  and  ever 
retained  a  most  unaccountable  dislike  ;  such,  for  instance, 
was  the  making  of  a  bed,  and  also  the  suitable  preparation 
of  some  of  the  most  common  articles  of  daily  food,  I  was 
never  able  to  teach  her,  with  my  most  patient  and  persever- 


THE   ORPHAN.  313 

ing  efforts.  These  peculiarities  annoyed  me  exceedingly, 
until  I  fully  made  up  my  mind  that  they  were  idiosyncrasies 
which  I  could  never  overcome,  and,  with  this  conclusion,  I 
gave  up  the  useless  endeavor.  At  the  district  school,  to 
which  she  was  regularly  sent,  she  was  always  esteemed  a 
bright  and  apt  scholar  ;  but  here,  too,  the  peculiarities  of 
her  mind  and  disposition  manifested  themselves  iu  various 
ways.  While  she  loved  her  bock,  and  was  usually  prompt 
with  her  lessons  in  the  branches  there  taught,  there 
was  this  single  and  marked  exception  :  she  could  never 
be  persuaded  nor  compelled  to  pursue  the  study  of  arith- 
metic beyond  the  four  simple  rules.  Not  only  did  she 
evince  an  unconquerable  dislike  to  the  study,  it  seemed 
utterly  impossible  for  her  to  attain  a  distinct  comprehension 
even  of  its  plainest  principles.  Many  a  time  did  she  come 
home  from  school  at  night  full  of  grief,  and  shedding  floods 
of  tears,  at  the  reproofs  and  the  severities,  sometimes,  of 
teachers  who  had  striven  to  overcome  this  strange  aversion 
and  determination. 

They  always  strove  in  vain  ;  for,  after  all  her  grief  and 
tears,  and  my  own  persuasions  and  arguments — for  in  this 
thing  I  never  resorted  to  commands — her  repugnance  was 
still  strong  as  ever  ;  and  after  a  few  such  efforts,  the  victory 
was  reluctantly  yielded  to  her  invincible  will,  and  her  equally 
evident  incapacity. 

To  add  and  subtract,  to  multiply  and  divide,  was  all,  she 

used  to  insist,  when  she  was  older,  that  a  woman  need  ever 

know  of  numbers  ;  and  why  then  puzzle  her  brain  and  tax 

her  memory  with  the  complicated  and  practically  useless 

14 


314  HOMT. 

rules  requiring  a  deeper  mathematical  insight  than  sue  en/ner 
possessed  or  desired  ?  To  all  practical  intents,  the  whole  of 
her  arithmetical  skill  consisted  in  counting  ;  what  she  could 
see  and  handle  she  could  count ;  but  I  accidentally  over- 
heard a  childish  conversation  between  her  and  my  little  son, 
which  will  illustrate  how  deficient  she  was  in  some  of  the 
most  common  mental  processes. 

Charles  said,  "  Enua,  how  many  are  sixteen  and  four  ?" 

"  Sixteen  and  four  what  ?"  said  Enna. 

"  Why,  sixteen  and  four  any  thing ;  just  the  figures." 

'"Just  the  figures'  don't  mean  anything,  Charles.  1 
don't  know,  without  you  tell  me  what  it  is  that  you  are 
counting." 

"  Why,  yes,  Enna !  sixteen  and  four  beans  will  make  just 
as  many  as  sixteen  and  four  apples  will." 

"  Oh  1  now  I  can  tell,  because  you  said  apples  and  beans, 
and  I  know  just  how  they  would  look  on  the  table  ;  but 
when  you  said  only  the  figures,  I  can't  think  of  them  any- 
where. It's — (stopping  a  long  minute  to  count  to  herself) — 
it's  twenty  apples,  Charles ;  and  (stopping  again  to  count 
carefully)  its  twenty  beans  too." 

"  Well,  it's  twenty  anything,"  persisted  Charles  ;  "  six- 
teen and  four  are  twenty,  of  course." 

But  Enna  looked  bewildered,  and  for  the  hundredth  time 
repeating  her  exclamation,  "  I  don't  like  figures,"  turned 
away  to  some  more  congenial  employment. 

The  dullness  and  dislike  of  the  little  girl  to  his  own  favo 
rite  study,  were  as  marvelous  to  Charles  as  were  his  skill 
and  absorption  in  his  intricacies  to  the  mind  of  Energine,  and 


THE   ORPHAN.  315 

the  mystery  of  their  contrasting  capacities  and  likings  migh't 
have  puzzled  older  and  wiser  heads  than  theirs. 

But  who  shall  measure  or  curb  the  windings  or  eccentri- 
cities of  mind  ?  Who  assign  its  bounds  or  decree  its  com- 
pass ?  We  see  one  individual  gifted  in  a  remarkable  degree 
with  some  one  faculty — is  it  greater  wonder  that  to  another 
the  same  faculty  is  almost  wholly  denied  ?  Much  may  be 
done  by  cultivation  and  education,  we  know,  but  if  there  be 
an  entire  lack  of  mental  aptitude,  it  is  in  vain  for  man  to 
attempt  its  creation. 

It  was  not  alone  in  the  particulars  I  have  mentioned,  that 
Energine  was  so  different  from  many  children  of  her  age  as 
that  she  was  always  spoken  of  by  my  neighbors  iu  that 
phrase  of  so  indefinite  significance — "a  peculiar  child." 
Though  by  no  means  bold  and  forward,  she  was  yet  fearless, 
and  her  quick  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  led  her  many  times  to 
discover  great  amusement  in  the  very  occurrence  which  to 
other  children  would  have  been  the  occasion  of  fright  and 
alarm. 

When  she  was  not  five  years  old,  I  was  ill  one  day,  and 
while  by  chance  alone  with  the  child,  I  suddenly/  fainted  and 
fell  to  the  floor.  It  was  probably  but  a  few  seconds  before 
consciousness  returned,  and  as  I  raised  my  dizzy  head  and 
opened  my  eyes,  I  saw  her,  instead  of  crying  with  fear  and 
apprehension,  as  many  children  would  have  done,  dancing, 
skipping,  and  laughing,  and  with  childish  glee  repeat- 
ing, 

"  You  fell  down,  didn't  you  Ma'  ?    You  fell  down  !" 

She  had  many  little  winning,  childish  ways,  but  withal 


316 

was  so  capricious  in  her  wayward  whims,  that  one  could 
never  tell  what  she  might  do  next. 

One  cold  November  morning,  I  recollect,  we  rose  early, 
long  before  the  grey  dawn,  when  nothing  would  pacify  her, 
but  she  must  follow  a  sudden  caprice,  to  go  to  the  orchard 
to  get  some  late  sweet  apples  to  eat.  So  off  she  went  alone, 
in  the  dark,  frosty  morning,  and  returning  with  hands  and 
apron  full,  called  loudly  at  the  door, 

4<  Ugh  !  Ugh  !  Cold  as  a  frog  1  Cold  as  a  frog  1  Ugh  ! 
Ugh  !  Cold  as  a  frog  1" 

And  her  aching  fingers  taught  her  for  the  time,  better 
than  my  words  could  have  done,  the  folly  of  yielding  to  such 
unseasonable  impulses. 

She  had  a  faculty  of  handling  everything  with  the  tips  of 
her  little  taper  fingers  with  a  most  dainty  touch,  and  of  hop- 
ping about  from  place  to  place  like  a  little  bird,  and  almost 
as  blithely  and  as  free. 

Bright,  gay  colors,  too,  were  her  especial  admiration  ; 
she  delighted  to  deck  her  hair  fantastically  with  blossoms, 
marking  the  different  effect  of  her  varied  embellishments  by 
watching  my  countenance  as  she  came  to  display  her  rustic 
adornings,  for,  in  truth,  I  must  say,  that  vanity  was  early 
one  of  the  prominent  characteristics  of  my  little  Energine, 
and  the  love  of  admiration  almost  a  ruling  passion. 

She  possessed  a  ready  tact  at  reading  the  opinions  of 
others,  which  in  later  years  contributed  not  a  little  to  gain 
for  her  the  popularity  she  craved.  Blending  with  a  quick, 
intuitive  sympathy,  it  led  her  to  be  readily  interested  in 
whatever  occupied  the  mind  of  a  companion. 


THE   OBPHAN.  317 

I  used  sometimes  to  fancy  that  she  was  so  absorbed  in 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  others  that  she  had  none  of  her 
own,  excepting  as  thus  derived. 

A  nature  gifted  with  sympathies  so  spontaneous,  could 
not  be  selfish,  and  she  was  ever  ready  to  yield  whatever  she 
possessed  or  preferred  to  the  importunate  request  of  a 
schoolmate — sometimes  to  my  great  inconvenience. 

Such  was  the  child  thus  entrusted  to  my  care  and  train- 
ing. A  gentle,  fragile  plant,  seemingly  ill  calculated  to 
withstand  the  storms  of  adversity,  yet  ever  bending  grace- 
fully before  the  blast,  and  gaily  rising  again  in  the  return- 
ing sunshine. 

"  Heaven  bless  thee,  little  flower  I    I  prise  thee  more 
Than  all  the  pride  of  female  itatelinett." 


318  HOME. 

/ 

CHAPTER  LV. 

"  A   FAYBE   GIRL,  WITH  A  CHANGEFULLE   SPIRIT." 

"  She  who  neither  dazzles  by  her  genius,  nor  much  enlightens  by  her  philosophy, 
does  what  neither  wisdom  nor  genius  always  succeed  in  doing — wins  hearts. 

WHEN  Energine  was  sixteen,  I  began  to  consider  seri- 
ously the  necessity  of  her  acquiring,  by  some  means,  more 
practical  views  of  life,  and  more  actual  preparations  for  its 
coming  realities.  Up  to  this  time  she  had  been  but  a  gay, 
light-hearted  child,  sometimes  saddened,  indeed,  by  her  own 
imaginary  sorrows,  but  none  the  better  prepared  by  these 
for  the  weightier  cares  of  womanhood. 

She  had  always  wrought  at  our  household  labors,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  she  had  always  received  the  supply  of 
her  wants  as  to  food,  clothing,  and  all  necessary  comforts, 
equally,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

After  much  thought  upon  the  matter,  I  concluded  to 
place  her  for  a  time  in  some  good  family  where  she  would 
be  expected  to  labor,  and  to  look  only  to  herself  for  the  care 
of  herself,  and  thus  the  qualities  she  lacked  might  be  de- 
veloped by  necessity.  Yet,  though  I  had  determined  upon 
this  plan,  I  still  deferred  the  acting  upon  it,  dreading  the 
day  which  would  send  her  from  my  own  fireside  to  the  less 
loving  home  of  strangers.  I  looked  around  among  my 
friends,  to  see  where  I  could  assure  myself  she  would  find 


A  FAYRE  GIEL  WITH  A  CHANGEFULLE  SPIRIT.        319 

the  tenderness,  the  firmness,  and  the  consideration  which 
her  young  and  undeveloped  nature  demanded  ;  where,  with 
wholesome  restraint,  might  yet  be  mingled  cheerfulness  and 
moderate  indulgence. 

After  some  delay,  I  was  so  happy  as  to  secure  for  her  a 
place,  possessing  in  good  degree  these  requisites,  in  the 
household  of  Samuel  Dudley,  the  husband  of  Mary  Lyman, 
as  mentioned  in  a  former  chapter. 

I  took  my  children  and  went  with  Energine  to  her  new 
home,  that,  by  the  social  chat  of  a  friendly  visit,  the  change 
might  be  made  less  painfully  to  myself.  The  house  was  one 
of  some  elegance,  in  the  busy  street  of  the  flourishing  village 
of  Dudley ville.  .A  broad,  green  slope,  with  a  wide  path  in 
its  centre,  was  in  front,  and  a  large  shaggy  dog,  lying  upon 
the  step,  gave  notice,  by  a  surly  growl,  of  our  approach. 
My  old  friend  Mary  met  us  with  a  cordial  welcome.  Our 
girlish  acquaintance  had  been  in  a  measure  kept  up  by  occa- 
sional visits,  as  we  lived  only  four  miles  apart,  and  she  had 
always  taken  an  affectionate  interest  in  Energine,  as  well  as 
in  my  own  children,  especially  since  my  sad  bereavement. 

Energine,  always  animated  and  elated  in  new  scenes, 
behaved  her  prettiest ;  and  I  could  easily  see  that  she  was 
likely  to  find  favor  with  all  the  family. 

The  father  and  mother  of  Mr.  Dudley  lived  with  them, 
and  though  Mary  was  nominally  and  really  the  mistress, 
the  more  imperious  and  dictatorial  Madam  Dudley  was  sure 
to  exert  a  felt  sway  upon  the  household,  and  I  was  gratified 
to  observe  the  kindness  and  evident  partiality  with  which 
she  already  regarded  my  foster-child. 


320  HOME. 

My  little  Anna  was  delighted  with  all  she  saw  at  the 
Dudleys'.  The  large,  wide  hall,  and  spacious  rooms,  quite 
impressed  her  with  their  superiority  to  the  smaller,  but 
comfortable  house  in  which  we  lived  ;  and  I  have  often 
recurred,  with  no  small  amusement,  to  her  serious  exclama- 
tion, as  we  came  again  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  overlooking 
our  own  home — "  There  is  our  humble  cottage  !" 

Here  Energine  lived  two  years.  Her  exuberant  spirits, 
with  her  good  looks,  and  a  ready  and  pleasant  humor  ever 
peeping  out  in  a  witty  repartee,  carried  with  them  a  sort 
of  fascination  which  made  her  a  favorite  with  all ;  and  the 
more  particular  preference  of  my  friend's  only  son  was 
beginning  to  make  itself  manifest,  when  it  was  discovered 
by  the  quick  eye  of  his  grandmother. 

The  old  lady — the  reigning  impulse  of  her  life  not  a  whit 
abated  by  any  subduing  influence  of  growing  age — could 
not  willingly  think  of  the  possibility  of  a  marriage,  even  in 
the  third  generation,  which  would  bring  no  wealth  to  her 
own  side  of  the  house.  She  found  means,  soon  after  becom- 
ing aware  of  the  incipient  liking  of  her  grandson  for  my 
pretty  Energine,  to  persuade  Mary  to  dismiss  her. 

By  ingenious  questionings,  the  ambitious  and  meddlesome 
woman  assured  herself,  before  she  left,  that  Energine  had 
attached  no  particular  importance  in  her  own  mind  to  the 
youtig  man's"  attentions,  and  wisely  forbore  to  enlighten  her 
upon  the  point,  though  the  proof  was  plain  to  her  own  wary 
observation.  She  probably  thought,  by  sending  Energiue 
out  of  the  way,  and  exerting  a  counter  influence  upon  the 
mind  of  the  youth,  the  danger  might  be  seasonably  arrested. 


A  FAYRE  GIRL  WITH  A  OHANGEFULLE  SPIRIT.        321 

Energine  came  again  to  me,  and  spent  the  ensuing  winter 
at  home,  attending  the  school  near  by.  For  a  while  Mr. 
Samuel — for  he  too  had  inherited  from  his  father  and  grand" 
father  the  same  good  Scripture  name — was  a  pretty  frequent 
visitor.  But  he  met  with  no  very  decided  encouragement, 
and  his  calls  becoming  less  and  less  frequent,  at  length 
ceased  entirely. 

Energine  laughed  and  joked  as  gaily  as  ever — her  heart 
had  not  been  touched — and  she  had  no  lack  of  admiring 
attendants,  though  not  always  such  as  I  could  desire  or 
approve. 


322  HOME. 


CHAPTER    LYI. 


"  And  may  not  I,  by  Heaven's  kind  mercy  aided, 
Weak  as  I  am,  with  some  good  courage  bear 
What  is  appointed  for  me?" 

f 

I  FELT  much  solicitude  at  this  time  about  Energine.  Her 
grace  and  attractions,  her  dependent  situation,  added  to  the 
native  deficiencies  of  her  mind  and  character,  exposed  her 
to  many  captivating  allurements  of  youthful  vanity  and  folly. 
During  the  past  two  years  she  had  improved  much  in  looks 
and  in  a  certain  assumed  steadiness  and  self-possession  which 
sat  becomingly  on  her. 

She  had  a  naturalness  peculiarly  her  own  ;  she  was  small, 
lithe  and  flexile  in  figure,  full  of  ease  and  prettiness  in 
motion,  and  her  laugh,  so  out-gushing  and  bird-like,  would 
betray  her  in  a  room  full  of  her  young  companions.  She 
could  converse  quite  fluently  upon  the  surface-ground  of 
almost  any  subject  she  heard  discussed,  though  a  few  perti- 
nent questions  might  easily  have  shown  her  deficient  com- 
prehension of  it,  and  her  entire  ignorance  where  close  study 
or  reflection  were  required.  I  had  often  been  surprised  to 
see 'how  she  would  seize  upon  a  thought  She  had  heard  an- 
other express,  and  clothe  it  in  her  own  words  before  the 
astonished  speaker  could  claim  his  property.  In  this  way 


she  continually  gained  credit  for  more  knowledge  than  she 
possessed,  though  by  no  means  intentionally  aiming  at  such 
a  result,  quite  conscious  of,  and  often  frankly  declaring  her 
own  ignorance  and  superficial  attainments.  The  influence 
of  the  companions  among  whom  she  was  now  by  necessity 
thrown,  was  in  many  respects  bad  for  a  nature  like  hers. 

Esquire  Ross  had  always  in  his  employ  a  large  number 
of  workmen  as  well  as  apprentices,  who  were  often  young 
men  without  firm  principle,  without  intellectual  cultivation, 
frivolous,  and  sometimes,  I  feared,  even  vicious.  With  no 
apparent  effort,  Energine  invariably  won  from  the  other  sex 
the  admiration  and  attention  she  so  well  loved,  and  I  often 
regretted  that  her  two  abundant  vanity  was  thus  easily  fed. 
I  could  hardly  forbid  her  associating  with  the  other  young 
people,  for  she  was  a  general  favorite  and  the  life  of  their 
little  companies,  and  such  refusal  must  have  had  the  appear- 
ance either  of  pride  or  moroseness  in  me,  besides  requiring 
great  self-denial  on  her  part. 

Besides  my  anxiety  for  my  adopted  daughter,  I  had  at 
this  time  many  other  perplexing  cares.  My  little  farm  was 
losing  not  only  in  remunerative  profit  but  in  actual  value, 
from  the  necessity  of  employing  only  hired  laborers.  Even 
these  it  was  often  difficult  to  obtain,  and  their  mercenary 
efforts  were  of  course  confined  to  securing  the  most  money 
for  the  least  work,  so  that  many  things  which  would  have 
been  advantageous,  and  even  highly  desirable,  for  the  proper 
improvement  of  the  farm,  were  wholly  neglected.  From 
this  cause,  my  means  of  support  and  of  education  for  my 


324  HOME. 

children,  were  diminishing  at  the  very  period  when  they  should 
have  been  increasing. 

My  boy  was  at  an  age  now,  too,  when  every  boy  requires 
the  guidance  of  a  strong  mind  and  a  good  judgment,  and 
though  he  yielded,  as  ever,  implicit  deference  to  my  autho- 
rity, yet  I  was  often  myself  at  a  loss  to  know  what  was  the 
best  course. to  advise  for  him.  The  same  evil  influences,  too, 
to  which  I  have  alluded  in  the  case  of  Energine,  were 
fraught  with  no  less  danger  to  him  than  to  her. 

At  times  I  was  almost  dispirited  by  the 'difficulties  thus 
surrounding  me,  but  a  retrospect  of  my  own  experience  in 
some  measure  reassured  me.  I  had  learned  that  all  human 
power  is  utter  weakness,  and  I  trusted  not  in  my  own. 
Strength  always  flows  from  the  Fountain  of  Strength,  in 
the  hour  of  trial,  if  it  is  sought  with  humility  and  earnest- 
ness, and  I  was  thus  enabled  still  to 

"  depend 
On  the  One  hitherto  providing." 

I  remembered  how,  in  the  time  of  my  loneliness  and  sor- 
row in  Maine — a  young  girl  exposed  to  many  and  various 
dangers — a  home  had  been  provided  for  me,  and  kind  friends 
raised  up.  How  I  had  been  restored  to  my  father's  house 
after  that  long  absence,  and  had  afterwards  enjoyed  years 
of  untold  happiness.  How  I  had  been  strengthened  and 
sustained  in  the  great  trial  of  my  life  ;  and  how  the  appa- 
rent obstacles  in  the  way  of  an  amicable  settlement  of  the 
estate  had  been  all  removed  and  harmony  secured  between 
the  conflicting  interests. 


TfiUST.  325 

Calling  to  mind  all  these  timely  benefits  from  the  Divine 
Hand,  with  many  instances  of  kindness  shown  to  me  in  my 
widowhood,  I  seemed  to  trace,  as  a  silver  thread  running 
through  the  whole  web  of  my  past  history,  the  working  of 
Providence  in  my  behalf,  and  should  I  now  begin  to  distrust 
its  continuing  care  ? 

Still  I  pondered  much  upon  these  subjects  of  my  solici- 
tude, though  with  a  growing  faith  that  a  way  would  be 
opened  for  me,  a  plain  path  in  which  I  should  be  led  to 
walk. 

"  These  are  my  cherished  dreams  to  day, 

And  who  has  dreams  more  fair  ? 
Dreams  will  they  prove  T— I  fear  it  not— 
I  communed  with  my  secret  thoughts, 

Nor  selfish  wish  was  there- 
One  only — and  it  will  endure — 
*  Oh,  keep  my  dear  ones  good  and  pure  1' 

And  Hear  en  will  hear  my  prayer  !" 


CHAPTER    LVII. 

GREENVALE. 

"Calm  huts,  and  lawns  between,  and  sylvan  slopes, 
White  mists,  suspended  on  the  expiring  gale, 
Moveless,  o'erhang  the  deep  secluded  vale  ; 
The  beams  of  evening,  slipping  soft  between, 
Gently  illuminate  a  sober  scene ; 
Winding  its  dark  green  wood,  and  emerald  glade, 
The  still  rale  lengthens  underneath  the  shade." 

IN  the  ensuing  spring  I  received  an  unexpected  visit  from 
a  cousin  of  my  husband's,  a  lady  who  had  some  years  before 
married  and  removed  to  the  Genesee  country,  as  it  was  then 
termed.  This  lady,  Mrs.  Fisher,  had  been  unfortunate  in 
her  marriage  connection,  and  being,  after  some  years,  cruelly 
deserted  by  her  unprincipled  husband,  now  found  a  home 
in  the  family  of  her  son,  in  a  new  settlement  in  the  interior 
of  New  York.  She  had  made  the  long  journey  to  Massa- 
chusetts alone,  \vith  an  intrepidity  scarcely  comprehensible 
in  these  days  of  quick  travelling  and  certain  conveyances. 
But  she  dreaded  to  encounter  alone  the  repetition  of  all  the 
inconveniences  and  annoyances  on  her  return,  and  taking  a 
fancy  to  Energine,  she  proposed  that  she  should  go  with 
her,  and  find  a  home  for  a  time  in  her  son's  family,  at 
Greenvale. 

At  first  the  idea  seemed  quite  preposterous  to  me,  of 
allowing  Energine  to  go  so  far  from  home  and  friends,  but 


GEEENVALE.  327 

the  more  I  reflected  upon  the  matter,  the  more  inclined  I 
grew  to  favor  the  plan,  especially  as  Mrs.  Fisher  was  one 
with  whom  I  could  entrust  her  with  confidence,  that  she 
would  be  carefully  guarded  from  temptations,  and  led  in  the 
paths  of  rectitude  and  morality. 

Energine  herself  was  delighted  with  the  prospect  before 
her.  She  listened  with  avidity  to  all  the  descriptions  which 
Mrs.  Fisher  gave  us  of  their  woods,  their  lakes,  and  the 
broad,  level  fields,  so  different  from  our  own  rugged  hill 
country.  She  was  not  less  amused  with  her  accounts  of  the 
people — their  manners  and  customs,  their  log-houses,  rude 
vehicles,  and  their  many  peculiar  forms  of  expressing  their 
frank  cordiality,  and  universal  familiarity.,  She  told  us,  too, 
of  their  rides,  their  quiltings,  and  their  various  "bees"  or 
frolics,  when  all  the  men  within  a  circuit  of  several  miles 
would  collect  on  some  appointed  day  to  help  a  neighbor  in 
clearing  a  "piece,"  gathering  in  a  crop,  or  in  any  other  job 
of  work  too  large  for  him  to  accomplish  alone,  and  for 
which  it  would  have  been  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  for  him 
to  hire  the  requisite  assistance.  The  neighbors,  thus  rallied, 
worked  "  with  a  will,"  well  knowing  they,  in  turn,  would 
receive  the  like  favor,  whenever  occasion  required. 

These  lively  descriptions,  made  still  more  vivid  to  the 
mind  of  Energine  by  her  own  fancy,  invested  the  new  home 
to  which  she  was  invited  with  a  charm  scarcely  to  be 
depicted.  She  could  see  no  possible  evil  in  the  way  of  her 
going,  except  the  unavoidable  one  of  leaving  my  own  family, 
and  for  this  she  was  in  a  measure  prepared  by  her  absence 
during  the  two  previous  years. 


328  HOME. 

To  my  own  more  sober  view,  many  objections  presented 
themselves,  as  I  thought  of  her  youth,  her  inexperience,  her 
want  of  serious  reflection,  and  her  love  of  admiration.  I 
almost  shuddered,  as  I  thought  of  the  possible  evils  to 
which  she  might  be  exposed  in  that  land  of  strangers. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  remembered  my  own  inability 
to  do  for  her  as  I  could  wish,  the  unhappy  influences  by 
which  she  was  surrounded  at  home,  and  the  necessity  which 
existed  that  she  should  be  enabled  to  maintain  herself. 

With  these  considerations,  and  in  the  full  faith  that  "  He 
who  was  able  to  keep  her  from  falling"  would  hear  my  many 
petitions  in  her  behalf,  I  gave  my  consent  to  Mrs.  Fisher's 
urgent  request,  and,  after  a  few  weeks  of  busy  preparation 
they  left. 

No  doubt  the  "golden  vapors  of  romance"  passed  from 
Energine's  picture  as  soon  as  she  reached  Greenvale ;  for 
the  familiar  and  near  seems  trivial,  and  only  the  distant  and 
unknown  are  wonderful  and  grand.  Still  she  was  not  the 
less  happy  in  the  reality,  for  hers  was  a  bright  and  joyous 
nature,  finding  its  pleasure  in  whatever  was  placed  within 
its  grasp,  without  reaching  after  impossibilities.  She  did 
not,  like  too  many,  "  while  gazing  at  the  stars,  forget  the 
sweetness  of  the  violets  at  her  feet." 

I  cannot  better  give  an  idea  of  her  western  life  to  the 
reader,  than  by  inserting  here  a  letter  she  wrote  to  me  not 
long  after  her  arrival  at  Greenrale. 


THE   LETTER.  1   19 

CHAPTER    LVIII. 

THE     LETTER. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER  : — 

I  have  so  much  to  tell  you  abou/  this  pl(*;e  and 
the  people  I  have  seen  since  I  came  here,  that  I  hardly 
know  where  to  begin.  Young  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fisher  are 
very  kind  to  me,  and  I  have  not  been  homesick  at  all,  except 
a  little  Sunday  nights. 

Many  of  the  people  here  are  Dutch,  and  their  ways  are 
curious  enough.  Their  houses  are  almost  all  of  logs,  and 
some  of  them  have  wooden  chimneys — "  stick  chimneys," 
they  call  them.  I  should  think  they  would  take  fire,  but 
Mr.  Fisher  says  they  do  not  very  often,  they  are  so  large 
and  wide.  In  these  log  houses  there  is  generally  only  one 
room,  besides  a  narrow  bed-room,  which  is  along  one  whole 
side  of  the  house.  Up  the  stairs,  which  are  sometimes  a 
ladder,  is  a  dark  chamber,  without  any  partitions,  except  as^ 
they  are  made  by  hanging  up  sheets  or  blankets  from  the 
rafters.  The  people  visit  a  good  deal,  though  there  is  so 
much  hard  work  to  do — going  in  whole  families  in  a  big 
wagon  or  in  a  cart  drawn  by  oxen. 

Mr.  Fisher  told  me  that  when  a  young  Dutchman  begins 
to  think  of  getting  married,  he  thinks  it  essential  to  his  suc- 
cess to  have  a  fine  horse  to  drive.  The  one  Mr.  Fisher  has 
now,  has  been  bought  at  four  different  times  by  as  many  dif- 


330  HOME. 

ferent  young  meii,  who  employed  him  ou  this  service,  and 
then  sold  him  again  after  they  were  married.  He  is  a  beau- 
tiful horse,  the  best  one  in  tha  town — they  call  him  "Top- 
notch,"  or  "Top" — he  is  of  a  clear  white  and  his  nose  is 
bright  pink  ;  his  head  is  always  up,  and  he  is  a  very  swift 
trotter,  yet  he  is  so  gentle  that  I  can  drive  him  anywhere. 

But  I  must  tell  you  of  a  quilting  I  went  to  last  week.  I 
was  invited  by  a  young  man  whom  I  had  seen  once,  at  our 
nearest  neighbor's — a  brother  of  the  young  lady  who  gave 
the  quilting  party.  He  came  to.  our  house  the  evening  be- 
fore, and  after  talking  with  Mr.  Fisher  awhile,  he  turned  to 
me  and  said, 

"  Sally  Mari's  going  to  have  a  quilting  to-morrow,  and 
she'd  like  to  have  you  come  over,  if  you  will." 

After  a  few  inquiries  I  accepted  his  odd  invitation,  and 
he  left,  saying  he  would  come  for  me  next  day.  At  eleven 
in  the  forenoon  he  drove  up  in  a  smart  red  sleigh,  or  "  cut- 
ter," as  they  call  it  here,  and  we  rode  over  the  smooth  snow 
at  a  fine  rate  to  Mr.  Van  Kromp's. 

There  were  at  least  thirty  quilters,  with  only  a  few  of 
"  the  boys,"  the  rest  of  whom  were  expected  in  the  evening. 
Those  who  were  already  there  had  only  come  to  bring  the 
girls — mostly  in  large  sleigh-loads — and  tried  to  make  them- 
selves useful  by  handing  spools,  threading  needles,  and  help- 
ing when  the  quilt  was  rolled.  When  we  had  worked  till 
almost  dark,  we  were  invited  to  go  into  the  other  room  (the 
long,  narrow  bed-room)  while  the  supper-table  was  set. 

The  quilt  had  been  suspended  by  the  four  corners  of 
the  frame,  with  strong  cords,  from  the  hooks  in  the  beams 


THE   LETTER.  331 

above,  and  it  was  now,  by  some  contrivance  I  did  not  fully 
understand,  drawn  up  to  be  out  of  the  way. 

We  were  a  good  deal  crowded  in  the  bed-room,  for  there 
were  three  beds  in  it,  besides  chests,  boxes,  and  some  chairs. 
How  many  more  things  that  we  did  not  see  were  there  I 
don't  know,  but  "  Aunt  Jane  " — as  they  all  called  Mrs.  Van 
Krompt — came  to  the  door  once,  and  called  out  to  one  of 
the  young  men, 

"  Here,  Joachim  !  you  sit  nigh,  you  reach  under  the  bed 
and  give  me  that  pan  of  fried  cakes  there." 

He  did  as  she  told  him,  and  handed  out  a  great  pan  full 
of  cakes,  each  as  big  as  an  apple  and  as  brown  as  a  nut, 
keeping  one  of  them  "  for  toll,"  as  he  said,  and  eating  it 
while  he  sat  talking  with  some  of  the  girls.  All  were  full 
of  fun  and  frolic,  and  we  were  soon  called  out  to  supper. 
Oh,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  tables,  for  there  were 
two  of  them,  loaded  down  with  food.  There  were  two  tur- 
keys on  each,  with  two  chickens  at  every  corner  7  then 
there  were  ham  and  roast  beef,  potatoes,  beets,  turnips  and 
squash,  all  put  on  with  various  whimsical  arrangements — 
the  beets  sliced  into  circles  and  hearts,  the  long  potatoes 
and  round  turnips  alternating  upon  the  same  dish,  and  the 
squash  put  in  little  cups  or  bowls  at  the  side  of  each  plate. 
Besides,  there  were  mince-pies  and  apple-pies,  custards  and 
pumpkin-pies,  cookies,  doughnuts,  and  cake  of  two  or  three 
kinds,  and  great  piles  of  warm  biscuit.  I  had  almost  for- 
gotten to  mention  the  pickles  and  the  preserves,  of  which 
there  were  a  great  many  sorts,  and  the  honey  and  the  apple- 
butter.  After  all,  a  great  waiter  full  of  apples  was  carried 


332  HOME. 

round.  I  could  not  possibly  eat  all  they  piled  on  my  plate, 
but  I  found  they  thought  I  was  proud  and  impolite,  so  I  did 
as  much  as  I  could  in  that  line. 

Before  supper  I  had  been  introduced  to  almost  every  one 
in  the  room,  by  a  handsome,  bouncing  Dutch  girl,  with  red 
cheeks,  and  short  curls  all  round  her  neck.  A  good  many 
of  the  names  were  odd,  but  when  she  whispered  "  this  is  the 
schoolmaster,"  and  then  said — "  Miss  Energine  Harlow," 
for  they  always  give  the  whole  name,  "  I  make  you  ac- 
quainted with  Mr.  Eager  Poppletony" — I  thought  I  should 
laugh  out.  Mr.  Poppletony  said  he  was  "  glad  to  see  me, 
as  he  was  from  the  East,  and  heard  I  was  too  ;"  and  he 
talked  away  to  -  me,  while  I  could  hardly  listen  to  what  he 
was  saying  for  the  looks  of  the  man.  He  had  a  narrow 
face,  light  blue  eyes,  and  white  hair,  a  short  nose,  and  a 
chin  that  looked  as  if  it  was  trying  to  run  away.  Then  he 
had  on  a  long  yellow  vest,  and  a  short-waisted  blue  coat 
with  a  velvet  collar,  and  his  great  white  hands,  which  he 
continually  rubbed  together  as  he  talked,  came  ever  so  far 
out  of  his  sleeves.  His  voice  was  soft  and  whining,  and  he 
laughed  once  in  a  while  in  a  sort  of  a  whimpering  way,  as 
if  he  was  ashamed  of  himself  for  something  or  other.  After 
supper,  he  came  and  began  to  talk  to  me  again,  and  told 
me  the  names  of  a  good  many  of  the  young  people,  and  who 
they  were,  and  what  he  thought  of  them.  Two  or  three 
couples,  he  said,  were  engaged,  and  soon  to  be  married  ; 
and  then  added, 

"  Some  folks  are  always  in  fits  to  get  married,  but  I  am 
not  one  of  that  sort." 


THE   LETTER.  333 

I  don't  know  why  he  should  have  volunteered  this  infor- 
mation, without  he  was  afraid  I  might  fall  in  love  with  his 
good  looks. 

At  last  he  asked  me  "  if  I  came  with  anybody  ?"  I  stared, 
for  I  wondered  if  he  thought  I  had  come  all  that  two  miles 
alone,  but  he  explained  that  "  he  meant  to  inquire  if  I  came 
in  a  large  sleigh  '  promiscuous,'  (as  he  termed  it)  or  with 
some  enviable  gallant  alone  ;  because,  if  I  was  not  thus  ap- 
propriated, he  should  like  to  take  me  home  in  his  cutter." 
I  told  him  that  Mr.  Yan  Krompt  had  brought  me,  and  he 
rolled  up  his  eyes  and  said,  "  Ah,  happy  man  !'' 

I  was  really  glad  when  Sally  Mari  came  to  ask  me  to  go 
and  help  them  sing  in  another  part  pf  the  room,  and  I  did 
not  see  Mr.  Eager  again  that  evening. 

I  have  written  so  much  about  this  quilting  that  I  have  no 
room  left  to  tell  you  of  our  singing-school,  and  a  good  many 
other  things  I  want  you  to  know  about.  If  I  could  only 
sit  down  with  you  at  home,  it  would  be  a  great  deal  plea- 
sauter  to  talk  over  all  these  things  than  it  is  to  write  them. 
I  wonder  how  I  could  have  been  so  willing  to  come  away, 
for  now  I  would  be  a  great  deal  more  glad  to  go  back  again. 
But  I  remember  what  you  used  to  tell  me — that  we  made 
our  lot  good  or  bad  by  our  own"  feelings — so  I  try  to  look 
at  the  sunshine  more  than  at  the  shadow. 

Tell  Charles  the  squirrels  are  all  black  here 

Please  write  soon  to  your  affectionate  daughter, 

ENERGINF.   HARLOW. 


HOME. 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

ENERGIXE'S    RETURN. 

"Be  it  eyer  BO  humble, 
There's  no  place  like  home." 

ENERGIN-E'S  stay  at  Greenvale  was  prolonged  to  four 
years.  She  kept  me  informed,  by  occasional  letters,  of  the 
general  tenor  of  the  life  she  passed  in  that  remote  and  then 
newly  settled  region,  dwelling  much  in  them  upon  the  unwa- 
vering kindness  of  her  friends,  the  Fishers. 

Her  duties  were  not  too  arduous,  while  they  were  soft- 
ened and  made  pleasant  by  the  unfeigned  generosity  of 
heart  which  strove  to  make  her  feel  that  her  place  with 
them  was  that  of  a  daughter  or  sister,  rather  than  of  a 
stranger  or  a  common  friend  ;  yet  was  she  so  thrown  upon 
her  own  resources,  in  respect  to  the  supply  of  her  ordinary 
wants,  and  in  the  guidance  of  her  own  conduct,  as  to  fur- 
nish for  her  a  steady  course  of  discipline,  most  salutary  in 
its  effects. 

But  amidst  all  the  happiness  which  she  certainly  enjoyed 
in  their  good-will  and  affection,  and  in  the  flow  of  her  own 
exuberant  cheerfulness — not  less  the  effect  than  the  cause 
of  the  very  favors  showered  upon  her — her  heart  still  yearned 
for  her  old  home,  and  pined  for  the  scenes  of  her  childhood. 
The  love  she  bore  to  me  and  my  children — her  brother  and 


335 

sisters,  as  she  loved  to  call  them — could  scarcely  have  been 
exceeded,  had  she  been  indeed  my  own.  Though  she  knew 
that  we  were  no  longer  in  the  cottage  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
in  Yalleybrook — that  that  loved  spot  could  never  be  home 
again — my  removal  to  another  residence  only  quickened  still 
more  her  impatience  to  return  and  join  me  ;  as  it  after- 
wards proved,  however,  not  to  be,  as  formerly,  a  member  of 
my  family,  though  ever  a  welcome  guest  at  our  fireside. 

She  was  for  some  time  delayed  in  the  fulfillment  of  her 
wishes,  by  the  want  of  a  suitable  companion  for  her  long 
and  difficult  journey. 

Much  entreaty  and  many  inducements  were  offered  by 
her  new  friends  to  persuade  her  to  remain  and  settle  among 
them,  at  Greenvale ;  the  Fishers,  in  the  kindness  of  their 
hearts,  representing  to  her  the  foolishness  of  wishing  to 
return  to  the  hills  and  rocks  of  New  England,  when  she 
could  so  easily  be  provided  with  a  comfortable  home  of  her 
own,  in  the  midst  of  their  rich,  fertile  valleys.  The  rich 
man  of  the  town,  who  had  been  successively  honored  with 
nearly  all  the  offices  the  good  people  could  bestow — being 
at  once  supervisor,  justice  of  the  peace,  and  member  of  the 
Legislature — was  now  left  a  widower.  He  sought  long  and 
earnestly  to  win  the  young  orphan's  consent  to  take  the 
place  of  his  lost  companion,  and  be  a  mother  to  his  four 
daughters,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  near  her  own  age,  the 
father  alleging  the  desirable  companionship  of  the  daughter 
as  an  additional  inducement  for  the  compliance  of  Energine 
with  his  importunities.  His  efforts  were  seconded  by  the 
advice,  and  even  entreaties  of  the  Fishers,  and  the  poor  girl 


336  HOME. 

was  for  a  time  almost  tempted  to  yield  ;  but,  happily,  the 
true  instincts  of  the  woman's  heart  prevailed,  and  she  effect- 
ually resisted  all  solicitations  to  marry  him  simply  because 
he  would  make  her  "  a  kind  husband,"  and  provide  for  her 
a  home  of  plenty,  while  the  heart  failed  to  be  met  in  the 
fullness  and  wealth  of  its  affections. 

Nor  were  younger  suitors  wanting,  who  proffered  their 
sincere  and  manly  love  to  the  stranger  maiden,  and  asked 
her  to  share  with  them  a  homely  lot ;  but  my  child  felt  in 
her  soul  no  answering  sympathy  sufficient  to  turn  her 
thoughts  from  her  cherished  home  and  the  friends  of  her 
infancy. 

A  favorable  opportunity  at  length  presenting  itself  for 
her  return,  she  left  the  kind  people  of  Greenvale  with  affec- 
tionate farewells,  and  followed  by  their  tears  and  good 
wishes. 

Again  restored  to  me,  she  was  joyfully  welcomed  to  my 
heart,  with  gratitude  and  thanksgivings  to  Him  who  had 
mercifully  preserved  her  from  dangers  on  the  way. 

I  was  glad  to  find  that  though  she  had  not,  apparently, 
been  in  a  situation  where  she  could  command  any  very  great 
means  of  improvement,  she  had  yet  gained  much  during  her 
absence.  The  variety  of  her  experience,  with  her  quickness 
in  seizing  upon,  and  aptitude  at  appropriating  every  thing 
new,  had  enabled  her  to  turn  to  some  use  whatever  came 
within  her  range.  He,r  mind  was  enlarged,  and  rendered 
more  reflective  ;  her  manners  had  acquired  additional  ease, 
and  a  shade  of  womanly  dignity  and  polish.  But  far  more 
than  these,  there  had  found  entramce  the  deepest,  strongest, 


ENEEGiNJi's   KETTJEN.  337 

highest  power  to  wake  up  the  soul  to  its  energies  and  to  its 
high  destiny.  She  had  experienced  the  power  of  religion. 
In  her  it  had  wrought  a  great  and  manifest  change — steady- 
ing, controlling,  and  directing  all  the  quick  and  keen  sensi- 
bilities of  her  nature,  and  correcting,  in  good  degree,  her 
too  versatile  disposition. 

The  few  months  she  now  spent  with  me  were  fraught 
with  much  sweet  and  pleasant  intercourse,  with  delight  to, 
us  both,  and  on  my  part  with  no  small  gratitude,  that  I  was 
thus  permitted  to  see  the  child  of  my  adoption  grown  to  a 
matured  excellence  of 'character  I  had  hardly  dared  to  hope 
for.  I  saw  in  her  a  humble,  self-reliant  desire  to  act  well 
her  part,  with  an  all-pervading  loveliness  of  Christian  feeling 
and  principles. 

To  my  family,  Energine's  descriptions  and  anecdotes  of 
her  western  home  were  as  entertaining  as  Mrs.  Fisher's  had 
been  to  her  before  she  left  us.  She  had  a  good  faculty  at 
graphic  delineations,  and  we  could  almost  see  the  immense 
wheat-fields,  the  deep,  dark  woods,  and  the  clear  blue  lakes 
of  which  she  told  us. 

Some  of  the  incidents  relating  to  her  new  acquaintances, 
and  especially  the  Fishers,  I  still  remember  with  interest. 
One  in  particular  I  will  repeat  here,  as  exemplifying  the 
power  of  self-control  evinced  by  the  elder  lady — the  innate 
sense  of  dignity  conferred  by  a  consciousness  of  rectitude 
under  the  infliction  of  undeserved  abuse,  and  the  utter  cal- 
lousness to  which  a  course  of  vice  and  dissipation  will  reduce 
the  human  heart. 

Mrs.  Fisher  had  not  heard,  for  some  years,  any  tidings 
15 


338  rex-. 

of  her  quondam  husband,  and  for  several  reasons  supposed 
him  to  be  dead,  when  as  she  stood  one  morning  washing  the 
breakfast  dishes  by  the  little  sink  under  the  kitchen  window 
she  saw  him.  riding  up  to  the  house,  accompanied  by  a 
woman  whom  she  had  never  before  seen,  and  two  young 
children. 

"  I  had  to  hold  on  to  the  sink  a  moment,"  said  she,  in 
speaking  of  the  affair  afterwards,  "  but  when  he  came  in  I 
did  not  turn  round." 

He  asked  for  breakfast,  which  was  readily  given  them, 
for  in  that  new  country  there  were  as  yet  no  taverns,  and 
every  house  was  free  to  travellers. 

The  woman  ate  in  silence — the  man  talked  to  the  chil- 
dren, but  apparently  took  little  notice  of  Mrs.  Fisher  or  of 
her  daughter-in-law.  After  they  had  eaten,  and  had  smoked 
their  pipes  in  the  chimney  corner,  they  rose  to  go,  and  the 
man  for  the  first  time  asked  for  "  the  man  of  the  house  ?" 
Being  told  that  he  was  at  work  at  some  distance  from  home, 
he  carelessly  remarked,  "  It's  no  matter,  we  have  had  a  good 
breakfast,"  and  with  no  further  thanks  than  this  half-way 
acknowledgment,  went  to  the  door.  But  as  he  raised  the 
latch  a  sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  him,  and  turning 
abruptly  to  Mrs.  Fisher,  to  whom  he  had  not  before  spoken, 
he  said,  in  a  drawling  sort  of  a  way, 

"  Let's  see,  aren't  you  the  one  that  used  to  be  Nabby 
Lewis  ?"  (her  maiden  name.) 

Drawing  herself  up  and  looking  him  full  in  the  eye,  she 
replied — 

"  You  know  my  name  as  well  as  I  know  yours  !" 


ENERGINE'S  RETURN.  339 

The  contemptible  husband  cowered  a  little,  but  trying  to 
force  a  coarse  laugh,  he  left,  followed  by  the  woman  and  her 
children.  As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  hearing,  young'Mrs. 
Fisher  exclaimed, 

"Mother,  who  was  it?" 

"  His  name  is  Fisher,"  said  the  indignant  but  sorrowful 
woman,  whose  tears  were  now  flowing — "  but  don't  tell 
your  husband,  he  will  be  so  angered — but,  oh  I  to  think  that 
that  wretch  is  really  his  father  !" 

"  Why,  mother  !  how  did  you  feel  when  you  saw  that 
woman  ?" 

"  Why,  I  can't  say,"  she  quietly  and  quaintly  replied, 
"  that  I  felt  any  immediate  affection  for  her  1" 

From  regard  to  her  mother's  feelings  the  daughter  forbore 
any  further  remarks  upon  the  painful  occurrence,  and  from 
that  time  they  had  no  return  of  the  unwelcome  visitor. 

Energine  soon  accepted,  with  my  concurrence,  a  situation 
in  the  family  of  Mrs.  Golding,  already  mentioned,  who  was 
now  advanced  in  life.  Mrs.  Golding  was  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter of  old  Madam  Dudley,  whom  she  closely  resembled  in 
character,  though  with  far  less  native  powers  of  mind. 

Her  husband  was  a  quiet,  inoffensive  man,  seeming  to 
think  he  was  born  for  little  else  but  to  add  field  after  field 
to  his  well-stocked  and  very  profitable  farm.  They  were 
now  wealthy.  Of  their  three  sons,  the  eldest  had  distin- 
guished himself  in  boyhood  by  an  aptitude  in  study,  and 
was  now  the  honored  author  of  a  successful  series  of  school- 
books.  The  second — incited  by  the  example  of  his  brother, 
and  himself  possessed  of  no  mean  intellect — conquered  the 


340  HOME. 

natural  indolence  of  his  disposition,  ana  cultivating  his  ma- 
thematical and  inventive  genius,  had  won  for  himself  con- 
siderable fame  as  the  originator  of  several  important  im- 
provements in  machinery,  and  in  agricultural  implements. 

The  youngest  son  was  of  a  less  enterprising  turn,  though 
all  the  children  displayed  a  mental  organization  quite  supe- 
rior to  that  of  their  parents.  He  had  now  reached  the  ma- 
ture age  of  thirty-five,  and  was  the  chief  manager  at  home. 
He  much  resembled  his  uncle,  Sam  Lyman — the  husband 
of  my  sister  Mary — and  this  was  not  only  in  looks,  but  in 
his  somewhat  pompous  manner  and  language,  and  in  his  up- 
right, honorable,  and  independent  character. 

Living  as  he  had  so  long  done,  with  no  female  companion- 
ship but  that  of  his  peevish  and  exacting  mother,  the  coming 
of  Energine  into  their  household  was  like  the  gleaming  ray 
of  a  sweeter  life  upon  the  ungracious  seeming  of  his  own. 

It  was  not  a  surprising,  though  to  me  a  most  unexpected 
result,  that  he  was  wholly  captivated  by  her  winning, 
sprightly  grace  and  beauty.  Her  ready  sympathy,  the 
cheerful  kindliness  of  her  disposition,  won  his  fervettt  admi- 
ration, and  filled  his  entire  being  with  an  emotion  to  which 
he  had  hitherto  been  wholly  a  stranger. 

He  succeeded,  in  spite  of  the  unkindness  and  opposition  of 
his  money-loving  mother,  who,  it  must  be  recollected,  was 
the  daughter  of  Madam  Dudley,  in  awakening  a  correspond- 
ing sentiment  in  the  heart  of  my  child,  and  after  some  delay 
their  marriage  took  place,  with  fair  promise  of  happiness, 
which  in  their  subsequent,  life  has  been  well  fulfilled. 

Religion  had  enlarged  and  improved,  not  changed,  Ener- 


ENERGINE'CJ  KKTUKN.  341 

gine's  disposition.     The  same  genial  humor,  the  same  love  of 
the  bright  and  gay,  even  her  old  craving  for  admiration, 
were  all  perceptible  in  the  matron  and  mother,  which  we 
have  seen  in  the  youthful  maiden  ;  but  so  modified  as  to 
have  become  excellences  rather  than  defects. 
.  Her  mirthfulness,  subdued  to  a  serener  hue,  became  cheer- 
ful cordiality.     The  beautiful  in  nature  was  ever  fresh  to  her* 
eyes,  and  many  a  happy  thought  and  feeling  did  she  gain 
and  impart  to  others  from  the  delighted  contemplation  of 
the  ornaments  with  which  God  has  decked  the  earth. 

Her  delight  in  the  approval  of  others  led  her  to  strive  for 
their  pleasure,  and  in  the  endeavor  she  forgot  self,  and 
learned  the  higher  bliss  of  doing  good. 

To  her  husband  she  was  a  joy,  a  sunbeam,  and  in  their 
children  were  mingled  the  solidity  and  strength  of  the 
sterner  nature  with  the  delicacy  and  elegance  of  the  mother. 

"  Thou  sweetest  thing 
That  e'er  did  fix  its  lightly-fibred  sprays 
To  the  rude  rock  ;  ah  1  woulds't  thou  cling  to  me  f 
Rough  and  storm-worn  I  am  !  but  if  thou  lov'st  me— 
Thou  truly  dost — I  will  love  thee  again 
With  true  and  honest  heart,  the1  all  unmeet 
To  be  the  mate  of  such  sweet  gentleness." 


342  HOME. 


CHAPTER   LX. 

RETROSPECT    AND    CHANGE. 

"  Whence  that  low  voice  ?— a  whisper  from  the  heart 
That  told  of  days  long  past." 

IN  relating  these  later  circumstances  of  Energine's  history, 
1  have  brought  my  narrative  down  to  a  period  in  advance 
of  actual  events  respecting  myself  which  happened  soon  after 
her  departure  to  the  West  with  kind  Mrs.  Fisher. 

Nearly  nine  years  of  my  widowed  life  had  now  passed,  and 
although  there  ever  hung  around  my  dwelling,  like  a  dark 
shadow,  that  "  cruel  sense  of  loss ;"  yet  I  was  not  unhappy, 
for  I  had  a  Heavenly  Comforter.  He  who  had  led  me  all 
my  life  long  was  with  me  still — a  Presence  of  light,  and  joy, 
and  peace. 

I  looked  back  to  the  time  of  my  gleeful,  sunny  childhood, 
in  my  father's  house  :  I  seemed  to  stand  on  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  and  view  the  brown  cottage  peeping  out  from  behind 
the  little  clump  of  cherry  trees,  and  my  heart  warmed  at 
the  thought.  My  first  great  journey  to  Boston,  and  to 
Maine,  came  up  fresh  and  glowing  with  the  vision  of  my 
happy  girlhood.  Then  rose  to  my  mind  the  remembrance 
df  life's  golden  prime,  when  the  cup  of  earthly  happiness 
was  full — when 

"  The  soberness  of  undisturbed  bliss 
Held  even  empire  in  the  mind, 
Like  steady  sunshine  in  a  cloudless  day." 


BETBOSPECT   AND   CHANGE.  343 

Again,  the  ever-present  consciousness  that 

"  The  storm  had  been  with  me,  and  I  was  left 
Torn  and  uprooted  and  laid  in  the  dast." 

In  childhood,  in  youth,  in  maturer  years,  the  Merciful 
One  had  guided  my  path  and  led  my  steps,  and  was  prepar- 
ing for  me  even  now,  when  I  knew  it  not,  greater  blessings 
and  new  happiness. 

The  lapse  of  time  will  bring  change — change  of  circum- 
stances, change  in  the  aspects  of  things,  and  in  the  views 
we  take  of  them — change  ever,  too,  in  that  successive,  inex- 
tricable net-work  of  present  scenes,  duties,  particular  pur- 
suits and  feelings,  in  which  we  are  each  involved  and  form 
a  part ;  and  that  makes  up  the  machinery  of  our  strange, 
busy,  mysterious,  ever-flitting  life.  But  change,  so  all- 
powerful,  need  not,  cannot,  touch  the  affections  of  the 
heart — our  inner  selves.  The  world  of  cherished,  happy 
associations  links  the  past  with  the  present — and  the  chain 
is  bright  1  True,  the  happiness  of  yesterday  is  not  that  of 
to-day  ;  the  peculiar  delights  and  pleasant  things  of  the  past 
are  gone,  and  they  will  not  be  recalled  ;  the  fountain  may 
rise  as  high,  the  stream  flow  as  deep  and  as  broad  now  as 
then  ;  but  that  THEN  still  remains  a  distinct  charm  of  the 
past,  rendered,  perchance,  still  more  dear  by  a  conscious 
feeling  of  half  regret  that  it  has  thus  drifted  back  on  the 
resistless  current  of  time. 

Let  me  return  again  to  my  story.  I  have  spoken  of  my 
perplexities,  on  several  points,  before  the  departure  of 
Energiue  with  our  cousin,  Mrs.  Fisher,  and  though  relieved 
by  that  event  as  respected  her,  still  there  were  other  things 


344  HOME. 

which  gave  me  no  little  disquietude.  My  next  neighbor,  it 
will  be  perhaps  recollected,  was  David  Hill,  whose  wife, 
Eunice  Cotting,  was  a  dear  friend,  the  sister  of  Bessy's 
husband.  She  was  a  pale,  delicate  woman,  suffering  all  her" 
life  from  frequent  illness,  and  I  had  seen  her  fade  away 
gradually,  step  by  step,  until,  with  the  coming  of  the  early 
spring  flowers,  she  died,  and  was  laid  in  her  peaceful  grave, 
leaving  behind  her  two  little  girls,  about  the  age  of  my  own. 
I  had  been  with  her  much  during  the  long,  slow  progress 
of  the  disease — that  insidious,  but  fell  disease,  consump- 
tion— which,  while  it  too  surely  marks  its  victim,  leaves  the 
mind  clear  and  unclouded  to  the  last  ;  and  much  consolation 
I  had  in  the  serenity  and  truly  Christian  joy  which  smoothed 
and  lighted  her  way  through  the  dark  valley. 

After  the  lapse  of  some  months,  Mr.  Hill,  always  quite 
neighborly  and  social,  began  to  make  more  frequent  calls, 
and  ere  long  became  a  regular  visitor  every  Sunday  evening, 
after  the  services  of  the  day  were  over,  chatting  awhile  on 
various  trivial  subjects,  and  then  taking  leave. 

These  visits  troubled  me,  not  only  that  they  drew  forth 
certain  sly  hints  and  intimations,  unpleasant  to  me,  from 
my  neighbors,  but  more  especially  because  they  occupied 
that  portion  of  the  holy  day  which  I  was  accustomed  to 
devote 'to  my  children,  and  which  I  prized  too  highly, 
willingly  to  spend  in  frivolous  conversation. 

Besides  this,  I  could  not  avoid  the  thought  that  some 
particular  purpose  prompted  the  unusual  attention — a  pur- 
pose to  which  I  should  be  utterly  averse.  Neither  was  it 
difficult  to  guess  at  motives  on  his  part  not  particularly  flat- 


BETROSPECT   AUD   CHANGE.  345 

tering  to  me,  nor  indeed  very  creditable  to  himself ;  for  my 
little,  though  valuable,  farm  adjoining  his,  would  make  a 
very  pretty  and  commodious  addition  to  his  own  snug  pro- 
perty. Altogether,  I  was  uneasy,  almost  vexed,  at  the 
proceeding  ;  yet  could  I  find  no  way,  without  resorting  to 
absolute  rudeness,  to  free  myself  from  the  unwelcome  intru- 
sion and  real  annoyance. 

A  pleasant  and  friendly  neighbor,  David  Hill,  could  be  to 
me  nothing  more,  and  I'was  often  reminded  of  our  "  sisterly 
conferences,"  of  which  he  was  the  unconscious  subject  in 
reference  to  our  dear  Grace. 

In  the  midst  of  my  embarrassment,  an  unexpected  event 
brought  about  a  new  phase  in  my  affairs.  An  old  friend, 
a  gentleman  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  several  years,  came 
one  day  to  see  me.  He  prolonged  his  stay  for  several 
hours  ;  he  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  come  again  : 
but  I  will  reserve  to  another  chapter  the  fuller  explanation 
of  what  was  to  me  of  so  much  importance. 


16* 


34:6  HOME. 


CHAPTER    LXI. 

THE     WIFE. 

"  Oh  1  on  his  liberal  front,  there  beamed  a  look 
Unto  the  which,  all  good  and  generous  hearts 
Answer  returned." 

"  How  much  tranquillity  and  contentment  in  human  homes  !  Calm  onflowings  of 
life  shaded  in  domestic  privacy,  and  seen  only  at  times  coming  out  into  the  open 
light." 

ONE  bright  day  in  March,  two  single  horse  sleighs  might 
have  been  seen  passing  fleetly  over  the  well-trodden  snow 
toward  the  East ;  their  destination  the  pleasant  town  of 
Rawley,  twelve  miles  from  Wayland.  In  the  foremost  sat, 
comfortably  wrapped  in  furs,  hopeful  and  happy,  the  one, 
gentle  reader,  so  often  brought  before  your  notice  in  this 
narrative,  for  some  time  past  known  familiarly  as  "the 
Widow  Coke,"  no  longer  so— by  my  side,  conversing  in  an 
animated  manner,  was  Mr.  Isaac  Howard. 

Behind  us  were  my  three  children — Charles  was  the  driver 
— his  two  sisters  with  him,  going,  in  all  the  trust  and  joy  of 
childhood,  to  their  new  home. 

About  dark  we  arrived  at  a  neat  white  house,  on  an  ele- 
vated spot,  surrounded  by  fine  scenery,  and  commanding  an 
extensive  prospect. 

As  we  entered  the  spacious  family  room,  a  cheerful,  blaz- 


THE    WIFE.  347 

ing  fire  was  brightly  reflected  in  the  large,  brass  andirons, 
the  tea-table  was  awaiting  our  arrival,  loaded  with  tempt- 
ing viands,  and  an  air  of  comfort  and  plenty  pervaded  the 
whole.  Two  young  maidens,  busy  in  the  last  touches  of 
preparation,  came,  promptly  forward  to  welcome  and  assist 
us  in  removing  cloaks  and  shawls,  and  arranging  all  com- 
fortably. 

Soon  I  was  seated  at  the  head  of  that  table — my  two 
smiling  little  girls  on  my  right — my  son,  staid  and  serious, 
yet  with  a  half-roguish  expression,  by  the  side  of  his  new 
father,  whose  eyes  beamed  upon  me  with  a  clear,  living 
light,  such  as  only  full  trust  and  serene  happiness  can  en- 
kindle. After  the  tea  things  were  removed,  we  passed  into 
the  adjoining  room,  and  my  husband,  taking  my  hand,  said, 

"  Here,  my  Anna,  is  the  place  where  I  hope  we  shall  en- 
joy much  together." 

It  was  a  small  room,  with  pleasant  windows,  and*book- 
shelves  tastefully  arranged  and  well  filled — quite  a  little 
boudoir  was  the  room.  It  was  finished  with  some  elegance, 
according  to  the  style  of  those  days  ;  and  the  color,  being 
the  lightest  of  all  blues,  with  paper  to  match,  gave  it  a 
lively  and  even  gay  appearance,  lighted  up  as  it  was  by  the 
cheerful  fire. 

Here,  indeed,  were  spent  many  delightful  evenings,  full 
of  calm  enjoyment,  in  the  converse  of  congenial  minds,  or  iu 
the  mutual  pleasure  derived  from  the  perusal  together  of 
improving  and  entertaining  books.  My  children  had  found 
a  father  ;  he  sought  their  good  ;  he  instructed  them  from 
the  stores  of  his  own  knowledge.  It  had  been  my  delight 


in  my  hours  of  lonely  leisure  to  lead  them,  step  by  step, 
through  the  toilsome  routine  of  school  studies,  and  they 
were  ready  scholars  ;  now  a  fresh  impulse  was  given  to  their 
endeavors. 

My  children  were,  indeed,  most  happy  and  favored  in  this 
new  relation  ;  they  had  no  remembrance  of  their  own  father, 
and  easily  transferred  to  my  husband  the  filial  affection  due 
to  a  parent,  to  which  he  on  his  part  heartily  responded. 
He  delighted  to  guide  their  young  minds,  taking  a  deep  in- 
terest in  their  rapid  development,  and  seeing,  almost  with  a 
father's  pride,  any  quickness,  attractive  qualities,  or  ability 
in  them. 

.We  were  now  in  a  neighborhood,  agreeable,  orderly,  and 
social,  free,  in  great  measure,  from  the  untoward  influences 
to  which  I  have  before  alluded  as  the  source  of  anxiety  to 
me.  Most  pleasant  and  cheerful,  too,  were  the  surround- 
ings of  our  home  in  Raw  ley  ;  there  was  not,  it  is  true,  the 
quiet  and  picturesque  beauty  of  Yalley  Brook,  with  its 
winding  streamlet  and  its  hill-sides  crowned  with  verdure, 
but  a  beauty  no  less  real,  though  grander  in  outline.  A 
gentle  slope  to  the  south  gave  a  sunny  exposure,  on  which 
the  light  rested  pleasantly,  while  the  morning  sun  threw 
across  the  broad,  green  plat  in  front  the  slender  shadows 
of  the  flourishing  young  maples  bordering  the  rustic  road. 

On  the  north,  a  bare  and  rocky  mountain  loomed  up,  grey 
and  misty,  in  the  distance  ;  while  just  beyond  the  orchard, 
were  two  small,  gracefully  rounded  hills,  rising  from  the 
plain  field,  so  green,  so  lovely  in  their  patches  of  waving 
grass,  half-hidden  rocks,  and  clumps  of  trees,  that  they  were 


THE   WIFE.  349 

like  a  picture  before  the  eye.  But,  above  all,  adown  the 
smooth,  green  slope  in  front,  were  the  pleasant,  open  woods, 
so  beautiful  in  their  every  variety  of  hue  and  shade,  with 
many  sunny  glades  and  dim  recesses  ;  the  "  quivering  aspen," 
the  thrifty  beech  and  birch,  a  sprinkling  of  the  pure  verdure 
and  graceful  tassels  of  the  larch,  with  the  dark,  solemn  firs, 
their  tall  cones  pointing  skyward,  and  the  lofty  pine,  the 
hoary  inhabitants  of  the  forest. 

When,  as  a  young  man,  "  Master  Howard  "  sought  my 
love,  my  girlish,  maiden  heart  beat  no  response;  it  had 
already  its  secret  image  within  ;  but  when  the  matured  man 
of  forty,  courteous  and  dignified,  proffered  me  the  support 
of  his  manly  arm — the  strength  and  guidance  of  his  well- 
cultured  and  gifted  mind,  my  soul,  chastened,  yet  quickened 
to  larger,  nobler  aim  and  purpose,  found  sweet  repose  and 
solace  in  the  true  friendship  and  faithful  affection  of  such 
an  earthly  guide  and  protector.  Again  I  experienced  the 
pure  and  ennobling  exercise  of  those  affections  on  which  the 
seal  of  Death  had  been  placed  !  That  wonderful,  mysteri- 
ous, precious  sympathy — wedded  love  ! 

Years  succeeded,  not  indeed  exempt  from  trial,  dimmed, 
too,  by  frequent  ill  health  and  many  weighty  cares,  yet 
cheered  by  new  joys  and  hopes,  and  solaced  by  the  kindness 
and  devoted  love  of  my  noble  husband. 

He  was  a  tower  of  strength  unto  me.  In  him,  all  my 
purer,  better  feelings,  my  nobler  aspirations,  met  a  ready 
response,  and  I  was  thus  led,  in  delighted  companionship, 
to  a  higher  range  of  thought  and  mental  attainment,  fitting 


350  UOME. 

me  the  better,  I  trust,  for  the  important  responsibilities  of 
mother. 

Four  more  were  added  to  the  number  of  my  treasures — 
three  gleeful,  sprightly  boys,  and  one  fair,  gentle  girl. 
With  us  were  never  known  the  differences  so  unwisely  made 
in  my  father's  family,  but  we  were  all  one  loving,  united 
household. 

A  few  more  years  glided  on,  and  my  husband,  at  the 
earnest  solicitation  of  friends,  established  himself  in  Boston, 
as  furnishing  more  ample  scope  for  his  profession,  and  also 
greater  advantages  for  our  children. 

In  this  favored  city — the  Queen  of  New  England — we 
found  a  quiet,  pleasant  home,  encircled  with  its  elegances, 
refinements,  and  numerous  facilities  for  the  liberal  culture 
of  the  mind  and  heart.  Our  children — the  elder  ones  just 
entering  upon  busy  life — availing  themselves  of  their  in- 
creased means  of  advancement,  were  rapidly  improving,  and 
we  looked  forward  with  high  hopes  of  future  prosperity  and 
happiness. 

Here  let  me  stop — let  me  be  spared  the  record  that 
follows,  lest  I  darken  the  picture  by  the  recital  of  fresh 
scenes  of  sorrow — for  sorrow,  deep  and  bitter,  was  again 
my  portion. 

I  was  again  a  widow  I  Yet  let  me  gratefully  remember, 
that  in  this  second  hour  of  grief  there  was  comfort  mingled 
even  with  the  bitter  cup  ;  for  my  husband,  so  beloved,  so 
lamented,  died  in  the  assured  hope  and  peace  of  the 
Christian. 


THE   WIFE.  351 

Many  years  have  now  gone  !  Their  even  course  has 
not  indeed  reflected  a  cloudless  sky,  though  comparatively 
unruffled  aud  serene.  In  casting  my  "eye  along  the  winding, 
"  backward  track "  of  life,  thankfulness  to  my  God  and 
Saviour  is  the  feeling  that,  more  than  all  others,  pervades 
my  heart. 

My  later  years  have  been  passed  in  tranquillity  and  con- 
tent, blessed  in  the  dutiful  affection  of  my  sons  and  daugh- 
ters, now  all  happily  married  and  settled  in  life. 

Time  has  silvered  my  hair,  and  dimmed  my  eyes,  but  in 
my  children's  children  I  live  over  again  the  scenes  of  my 
youth. 

How  beautiful  the  dewy  freshness  of  the  dawn  of  day  ! 
when,  with  the  bright  morning  sun,  all  things  rejoice  in 
fragrance  and  in  beauty. 

So,  in  early  youth,  the  spirit  looks  forth,  joyous  and  free; 
each  fair,  smiling  path  strewn  with  roses,  and  an  ever- 
widening  visia  opens  of  loveliness  and  bliss. 

But,  as  surely  as  the  sultriness  of  the  deepening  noon, 
the  dust  and  strife,  the  tumult  of  the  crowded  street  and 
busy  mart,  follow,  not  with  lingering  steps,  the  quiet  cool- 
ness of  the  summer  morning,  so  surely  must  the  green  and 
flowery  paths  of  the  spring-time  of  life  lead  to  the  rough 
slope  and  steep  ascent.  All  must  thread  the  tangled  maze 
of  life — each  with  his  burden  of  perturbed  and  anxious 
thoughts,  alternate  hopes  and  fears,  and  longing  aspirations 
ever  unfulfilled  !  And  is  this  all  of  life  ?  Is  there  then  no 
light,  no  hope  to  cheer,  amid  thick-coming  cares  and  blight- 
ing disappointments  ?  There  is  a  Hope,  never  fading ; 


352 

there  is  a  Light,  shining  clear  and  steady.  Its  beams  are 
fihed  on  a  path  shady  and  sequestered,  but  not  lonely — 
where  the  pure  breezes  softly  echo  back  the  pleasant  voices 
of  a  happy  company,  singing  as  they  journey  on — where  ver- 
dant boughs,  overhanging  with  thickly  clustering  branches, 
drop  fruits  of  love  and  kindness.  It  is  the  path  from  Earth 
to  Heaven. 


THE     END 


j.  c.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


A   BOOK    07   BABE    HUMOE! 

THE     WIDOW     BEDOTT     P  A-P  E  R  8 

BY  fBANCJS  M.    WHITCRER 

tr 

WITH    AH    IHTEODCCIIOH    BY    ALIC8    B.    HKAL. 

One  volume  12mo.,  with  8  spirited  illustrations  by  Ballas  and  Orr 
Price  $1  25. 

Extract  from  a  Letter  to  the  Author  bytAelate  Joseph  C.  Neat 
"  Our  readers  talk  of  nothing  else,  and  almost  despise  '  Neal '  if  the  '  Widow '  be  not 
Jhere.  An  excellent  critic  in  these  matters,  said  to  me  the  other  day,  that  he  regarded 
the.n  as  the  best  Yankee  papers  yet  written,  and  such  is  indeed  the  general  sentiment. 
I  know,  for  instance  of  a  lady  who,  for  several  days  after  reading  or.a  of  them,  wai 
continually,  and  often  at  moments  the  most  inopportune,  bursting  forth  into  fits  of  violent 
laug)  r,  and,  believe  me,  that  you,  gifted  with  such  powers,  ought  not  to  speak  disparag- 
Inff  f  the  gift  which  thus  brings  wholesome  satire  home  to  every  reader." 


CONTENTS. 


H'jzekiah  Bedott. 

The  Widow  Essays  Poetry. 

Widow  Jenkins'  Animosity. 

Mr.  Crane  Walks  in. 

The  Widow  Discourses  of  Pumpkins. 

The  Widow  Loses  her  Bean. 

Mr.  Crane  about  to  Propose. 

Mr.  Crane  Walks  out. 

The  Widow  "  Sets  her  Cap." 

The  Widow  Resolves  to  leave  Wiggletown. 

The  Widow  Trades  with  a  Pedlar. 

•"In?  Widow  and  Aunt  Maguire  Discourse  on 

Various  Topics. 
The  Widow  having  Heard  that  Elder  Sniffles 

is  Sick,  Writes  to  him. 
The  Widow  Resorts  to  Elder  Sniffles  far 

Religious  Instruction. 
The  Widow  concludes  to  Publish. 
The  Widow  Prepares  to  Receive  Elder  Snif- 

•es  on  Thanksgiving-Day. 
The  Widow  Retires  to  a  Grove  in  th«  rear 

•f  Kid w  Sniffles' House. 


The  Widow  Writes  to  her  Daughter,  Ma. 
Jupiter  Smith. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  Abroad. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  at  Home. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  Expresses  her  Senti- 
ments in  Regard  to  the  Parsonage. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Experience. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Description  of  the  Donation 
Party. 

Aunt  Maguire  Treats  of  the  Contemplated 
Sewing  Society  at  Scrabble  Hill. 

Aunt  Maguire  Continues  her  Account  of. 
the  Sewing  Society. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Visit  to  Slabtown. 

Visit  to  Slabtown  Continued. 

Mrs.  Maguire's  Account  of  Deacon  Whip- 
pie. 

Mrs.  Mudlaw's  Recipe  for  Potatoe  Pud- 
ding. 

Morning  Calls;  or,  Kvery  Body's  Particular 
Vrfend. 


J.    0.    OKRBY  S    PUBLICATIONS. 


THE     LIFE    AND    SAYINQS     OF     MRS. 
PARTINOTON, 

AND  OTHERS  OP  THE  FAMILY. 

BY  B.  P.  SHILLABEB. 
1  elegant  12mo.,  43  Illustrations.    Price  $1  25, 

"'Hang  the  books  I'  said  an  appreciative  examiner,  to  whom  we  handed  a  copy  for 
Inspection, '  I  can't  afford  to  buy  them,  but  I  can't  do  without  this ;'  and  laughirg  untfa 
the  tears  ran,  he  drew  forth  the  purchase-money.  It  is  just  so,  reader;  you  can't  do 
Without  this  book.  It  is  so  full  of  genial  humor  and  pure  human  nature  that  your  wife 
and  children  must  have  it,  to  be  able  to  realize  how  much  enjoyment  may  be  shut  up 
within  the  lids  of  a  book.  It  is  full  of  human  kindness,  rich  in  humor,  alive  with  wit, 
mingled  here  and  there  with  those  faint  touches  of  melancholy  which  oft-times  touch 
Mirth's  borders." — Clinton  Courant. 

"  She  has  caused  many  a  lip  to  relax  from  incontinent  primness  into  the  broadest  kind 
of  a  grin— has  given  to  many  a  mind  the  material  for  an  odd  but  not  useless  revery— hat 
•cooped  out  many  a  cove  on  the  dry  shores  of  newspaper  reading,  and  invited  the  marinei 
reader  to  tarry  and  refresh  himself.  '  Kuth  Part  ing  ton  '  is  a  Christian  and  a  patriot 
Such  a  book  will  go  everywhere— be  welcomed  like  a  returned  exile— do  good,  and  ceas» 
not." — Buffalo  Eacpress. 

"  If  it  is  true  that  one  grows  fat  who  laughs,  then  he  who  reads  this  book  will  fat  up 
even  though  he  may  be  one  of  Pharaoh's  '  lean  kine.'  That  it  does  one  good  to  laugh, 
nobody  doubts.  We  have  shook  and  shook  while  running  through  this  charming  volume, 
until  it  has  seemed  as  though  we  had  increased  in  weight  some  fifty  gounds,  more  or 
less.".  -Massachusetts  Life  Boat. 

"  A  regular  Yankee  institution  is  Mrs.  Partington,  and  well  deserves  the  compliment  of 
a  book  devoted  to  her  sayings  and  doings.  She  is  here  brought  before  the  public,  which 
Is  so  greatly  indebted  to  her  unique  vocabulary  for  exhaustleu  stores  of  fun,  in  a  stylo 
worthy  of  her  distinguished  character."— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  There  is  a  world  of  goodness  in  her  blessed  heart,  as  there  Is  a  universe  of  quiet  fun 
A  the  book  be.  «  us.  'A  gem  of  purest  ray  serene '  glitters  on  almost  every  page. 
Everybody  shoui  buy  the  book ;  everybody,  at  least,  who  loves  genial,  quiet  wit,  whicn 
never  wounds,  but  always  heals  where  it  strikes." — Independent  Democrat. 

•«  It  is  crammed  full  of  ker  choicest  sayings,  and  rings  from  title  page  to  '  finis '  with  het 
unconscious  wit.  It  is  just  the  book  for  one  to  read  at  odd  moments — to  take  on  the  can 
or  home  of  an  evening — or  to  devour  in  one's  office  of  a  rainy  day.  It  is  an  excellent 
antidote  for  the  blues."— Oneida  Herald. 

«  Housewives  who  occasionally  get  belated  about  their  dinner,  should  have  it  lying 
round.  It  will  prevent  a  deal  of  grumbling  from  their  '  lords,'  by  keeping  them  10  wMJ 
employed  as  to  make  them  forget  their  dinner."— New  Hampshire  Teleffraph. 

"  Her « sayings '  have  g^  ne  the  world  over,  and  given  her  an  Immortality  that.will  gllttwr 
and  sparkle  among  the  record!  of  genius  wherever  wit  and  humor  shall  be  appreciated.'- 
-  Wot  cester  Palladium.  J 


Jf.    C.    DERBY  S   PUBLICATIONS. 


EXTBAOBDINABY     PUBLICATION 


MY    COURTSHIP   AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

BY HENRY    WIKOFF. 

A.  true  account  of  the  Author's  Adventures  in  England,  Switzerland,  and 
Italy,  with  Miss  J.  C.  Gamble,  of  Portland  Place,  London.  1  elegant 
12mo.  Price,  in  cloth,  $1  25. 

The  extraordinary  sensation  produced  In  literary  circles  by  Mr.  Wikoff's  charming 
romance  of  real  life,  is  exhausting  edition  after  edition  of  his  wonderful  book.  From 
lengthy  reviews,  among  several  hundred  received,  we  extract  the  following  brief  notices 
Of  the  press : 

"  We  prefer  commending  the  book  as  beyond  question  the  most  amusing  of  the  season, 
and  we  commend  it  without  hesitation,  because  the  moral  is  an  excellent  one."— Albion. 

"With  unparalleled  candor  he  has  here  unfolded  the  particulars  of  the  intrigue,  taking 
the  whole  world  into  his  confidence — '  bearing  his  heart  on  his  sleeve  for  daws  to  pec' 
at ' — and,  in  the  dearth  of  public  amusements,  presenting  a  piquant  nine  days'  wondc 
for  the  recreation  of  society."— .y.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  The  work  Is  very  amusing,  and  it  is  written  in  such  a  vein  that  one  cannot  refrain 
from  frequent  bursts  of  laughter,  even  when  the  Chevalier  is  in  positions  which  might 
claim  one's  sympathy." — Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

"  A  positive  autobiography,  by  a  man  of  acknowledged  fashion,  and  an  associate  of 
nobles  and  princes,  telling  truly  how  he  courted  and  was  coquetted  by  an  heiress  in  high 
life,  is  likely  to  be  as  popular  a  singularity  in  the  way  of  literature  as  could  well  be  though! 
ot.n—nome  Journal. 

"  The  ladies  are  sure  to  devour  it.  It  is  better  and  more  exciting  than  any  modern 
romance,  as  it  is  a  detail  of  facts,  and  every  page  proves  conclusively  that  the  plain, 
unvarnished  tale  of  truth  is  often  stranger  than  fiction." — Baltimore  Dispatch. 

"  The  book,  therefore,  haa  all  the  attractions  of  a  tilt  of  knight-errants— with  this  addi- 
tion, that  one  of  the  combatants  is  a  woman— a  species  of  heart-endowed  Aniaion."— 
Newark  Daily  Mercury. 

"  If  you  read  the  first  chapter  of  the  volume,  yon  are  in  for  '  finis,'  and  can  no  mort 
•top  without  the  consent  of  your  will  than  the  train  of  can  can  stop  without  the  consent 
of  the  engine."—  Worcester  Palladium. 

«'  Seriously,  there  is  not  so  original,  piquant  and  singular  a  book  hi  American  literature 
It*  author  is  a  tort  of  cross  between  Fielding,  Chesterfield,  and  Bochefoucault."— Bottom 
Chronicle. 

"  With  the  exception  of  Rosseau's  Confessions,  we  do  not  remember  ever  to  bar*  heard 
of  any  such  self-anatoinisation  of  love  and  the  lover."— JV.  Y.  Jfetprett. 

"  The  book  has  cost  us  a  couple  of  nlghta'  sleep ;  and  we  have  no  doubt  It  hu  «wt  It* 
author  and  principal  subject  a  good  many  more."— Jf.  Y.  Evening  Mirror. 

"The  work  possesses  all  the  charm  and  ta»cination  of  a  continuous  romance."— JT.  X 
journal  o/  Commerce. 


j,  o.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


JACK    DOWNING'S    NEW    BOOK! 


•WAY      D  X>  W  N      EAST; 

OB,  POBTRAITDRES  OF  YANKEE  LIMB. 

BY  SEBA  SMITH,  X8Q. 
Illustrated,  12mo.    Price  $1. 

«  We  greet  the  Major,  after  a  long  interval,  with  profound  pleasure  and  retpett.  Wei 
4*  we  remember  how,  yean  ago,  we  used  to  pore  over  his  lucubrations  on  the  events  of 
the  time— how  he  enlightened  us  by  his  home-views  of  the  Legislature's  doings,  of  the 
Mineral's  intentions,  and  of  the  plans  of  ambitious  Uncle  Joshua.  Here  was  the  '  spot  of 
his  origin,'  and  around  us  were  the  materials  from  which  he  drew  his  stores  of  instructive 
wit  Therefore  we,  of  all  the  reading  public,  do  the  most  heartily  greet  his  reappearance. 
We  find  him  a  little  more  artistic  than  of  old,  more  advanced  in  grammar  and  orthography 
bat  withal  displaying  the  same  intimate  knowledge  of  Down  Eastdom,  and  retaining  the 
same  knack  of  genuine  Yankee  humor.  In  fact,  taking  all  things  together,  no  other 
writer  begins  to  equal  him  in  the  delineation  of  the  live  Yankee,  in  the  points  where  thai 
Individual  differs  from  all  the  '  rest  of  mankind.'  This  is  his  great  merit  as  an  author, 
and  one  which  the  progress  of  manners  will  still  further  heighten— for  It  is  only  in  some 
portions  of  our  own  State  that  the  real  Yankee  can  now  be  found. 

"  The  present  book  has  sixteen  chapters  devoted  to  home-stories.  They  are  racy  and 
humorous  to  a  high  degree."— Portland  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  now  generally  conceded  that  Seba  Smith  is  the  ablest,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  amusing  delineator  of  Yankee  life  who  has  hitherto  attempted  that  humorous  style 
of  writing— not  excepting  even  Judge  Haliburton  himself.  This  is  no  rash  expression,  for 
there  is  not  a  passage  in  '  Sam  Slick '  so  graphic,  funny  and  and  comical,  but  we  find 
equalled  If  not  surpassed  in  the  sensible  and  philosophic,  although  ludicrous  epistles,  of 
>  Major  Jack  Downing '—epistles  of  which  we  defy  the  most  stupid  to  glance  at  a  para- 
graph without  reading  the  whole."— Philadelphia  News. 

"  This  is  a  book  of  real  Yankee  life,  giving  the  particulars  of  character  and  in/  .dents  in 
New  England,  from  the  Pilgrim  fathers  and  their  generations,  Connecticut  Blue  Laws,  and 
the  civic  and  religious  rules,  customs,  Ac.,  from  the  Nutmeg  State  away  down  East,  as  far 
as  Mr.  Jones  ever  thought  of  going.  It  is  a  very  laughable  affair,  and  every  family  in  all 
Yankeedom  wih  enjoy  its  perusal."— Hvngham  (Most.)  Journal. 

"  There  are  few  readers  who  do  not  desire  to  keep  up  an  acquaintance  with  the  original 
Major  Jack  Downing,  whose  peculiar  humor,  while  it  is  irresistible  in  its  effects,  is  nerei 
made  subservient  to  immorality.  But  these  stories  are  an  improvement  on  those  originally 
given  by  the  author,  as  they  are  illustrative  of  Yankee  life  and  character  in  the  good  old 
times  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers."—  Christian  Advocate  and  Journal. 

"  The  stones  are  the  most  humorous  in  the  whole  range  of  Yankee  literature,  full  of 
genuine  wit,  rare  appreciation  of  fun,  and  giving  an  insight  into  human  motive  which 
•hows  the  close  observation  and  keen  relish  of  life,  of  a  good-humored  philosopher."— 
Saturday  Evening  Mail. 

«  A  charmingly  interesting  book,  this,  for  all  who  hail  from  Down  East,  or  who  lite  to 
r«a4  good  storiea  of  home  life  among  the  Yankees."-- Soiom  £e<j%** 


3    e.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THK   CJrREEN    MOUNTAIN    TRAVELLERS' 
ENTERTAINMENT. 

BY  J08IAH  BARNES,    8SN. 
12mo.     $1. 

"  They  will  be  read  with  earnest  sympathy  and  heartfelt  approval  by  all  who  enjoy 
quiet  pictures  of  the  homely,  yet  often  charming  scenes  of  daily  life.  The  style  well 
befits  the  thoughts  expressed,  and  is  equally  simple  and  '•npressire.  We  hare  found  in 
these  pages  better  than  a  '  traveller's  entertainment '-  one  whicli  will  mingle  with  th« 
pleasant  recollections  of  a  home  &re»ide."— Providence  Daily  Post. 

"  If  any  of  our  friends  wish  to  get  hold  of  a  book  written  in  a  style  of  pure  and  beau- 
tiful English,  that  reminds  one  of  Irving  continually  ;  a  book  rich  with  inventions  of  the 
marvellous,  and  yet  abounding  in  sweet  humanities  and  delicate  philosophies — a  book 
that  will  not  tire  and  cannot  offend,  let  them  go  to  a  bookstore  and  buy  '  The  Old  Inn  ; 
or,  the  Travellers'  Entertainment,'  by  Josiah  Barnes,  Sen.  It  will  pay  the  leader  well." 
—Springfield  (Matt.)  Republican. 

"It  should  be  praise  enough  to  say  that  tne  author  reminds  one  occasionally  oJ 
Irving."— Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"  Unless  we  err  greatly,  a  volume  so  markedly  original  in  ita  outline  and  feature!  will 
it  tract  a  large  share  of  attention." — Bunion  Evening  Gazette. 

"  This  is  a  very  pleasant  book.    The  plan  of  it,  if  not  new,  is  just  as  well  carried  out 
five  'r  six  'r  half-a-dozen  '  travellers  meet  at  an  indifferent  tavern  in  an  indifferent 
part  of  Vermont,  upon  a  seriously  unpleasant  day,  and  to  pass  away  the  dull  hours,  they 
fall  to  story-telling.     The  record  of  their  performances  in  that  behalf  is  made  up  into  th«t 
volume  '  above  entitled.'     80  agreeable  became  the  diversion  that  not  only  the  evening 
of  the  first  day,  but  as  the  following  morning  was  conveniently  stormy,  the  second  day 
U  consumed  in  similar  diversions.    Those  who  read  the  book  will  agree  with  us,  mat  a 
itormy  rfay  and  a  country  inn,  with  such  alleviation,  present*  no  very  great  hardship  to 
the  traveller,  unless  his  business  is  particularly  urgent.     We  commend  the  book  to  those 
«bo  like  a  peasant  story,  pleasantly  told." — Budget,  Troy,  N.  T. 
"  Under  the  above  title  we  have  several  interesting  stories  as  told  by  the  varloms  cha- 
pters at  tne  fireside  of  a  comfortable,  old-fashioned  inn,  to  while  away  the  long  Louri 
•    storm,  by  which  they  were  detained     The,  Little  Dry  Man's,  the  supposed  Lawyer's, 
»ud  the  Quaker's  stories  are  all  worth  listening  to.    They  are  well  told  and  entertain  the 
rv^der."— Bangor  Journal. 

u  This  is  a  series  of  stories,  supposed  to  be  related  to  while  away  the  time,  in  an  old 
inn,  where  a  party  of  travellers  are  storm-stayed,  consisting  of  the  '  Little  Dry  Man's 
Story,"  the  'Supposed  Lawyer's  Story,'  'Incidents  of  a  Day  at  the  Inn,'  the  'Quaker's 
Story,'  and  '  Ellen's  Grave.'  The  stories  are  well  told.  There  is  a  charming  simplicity 
In  the  author's  style — all  the  more  delightful,  because,  now-a-days,  simplicity  of  l&u- 
guage  Is  a  rarity  with  authors.  It  is  a  book  to  take  up  at  any  moment,  and  occupy  a 
leisure  hour — to  lay  aside,  and  take  up  again  and  again.  We  commend  its  tone,  and 
th*  object  of  the  author.  It  if  a  pleasant  companion  on  a  country  journey  " — Jf.  I 


j.  c.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


"Bell's  sketches  are  instinct  with  life,  they  sparkle  with  brilliants,  are  gei  • 
med  with  wit,  and  address  themselves  to  almost  every  chord  of  the  hunu  * 
heart. '  '—LowUville  (Ky.)  Bulletin. 


BEI.L    SMITH    ABROAD. 

A  Handsome  12mo.  volume.    Price  $1  00.    With  Illustrations  by  T»»alyf 
Walcutt,  and  Overarch? 

"  The  readers  of  the  Louisville  Journal  need  no  introduction  from  us  to  Bell  Smith. 
Her  own  brilliant  pen,  and  her  own  sparkling,  witching  and  delightful  style  have  so  often 
graced  the  columns  of  this  paper,  and  have  made  so  many  friends  and  admirers  for  her, 
that  we  need  say  but  little  toward  creating  a  demand  for  this  charming  volume.  But 
•ome  tribute  is  nevertheless  due  to  Bell  Smith  for  the  real  pleasure  she  has  imparted  in 
every  chapter  of  her  book,  and  that  tribute  we  cheerfully  pay.  Her  admirable  powers 
»eem  so  much  at  home  in  every  variety  and  phase  of  life,  that  she  touches  no  subject 
'•''thont  making  it  sparkle  with  the  lights  of  her  genius." — Louisville  Journal. 

She  Is  ever  piquant  in  her  remarks,  and  keen  from  observation ;  and  the  result  to 
flat  her  '  Abroad'  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  collections  of  incident  and  comment,  fun 
*nd  pathos,  seriousness  and  gossip,  which  has  ever  fallen  under  our  notice." — Boston 
Evening  Traveller. 

"  It  is  dashing  and  vigorous  without  coarseness — animated  with  a  genial  humor- 
showing  acute  and  delicate  perceptions — and  sustained  by  a  bracing  infusion  of  common 
lense."— Jf.  Y.  Tribune 

"There  are  many  delicate  strokes,  and  not  a  little  of  that  vivacity  of  description 
which  entertains.  The  author  shows  her  best  side  when  matters  of  home-feeling  and 
Affection  engage  her  pen."^-JT.  Y.  Evangelist. 

"  History,  art  and  personal  narrative  are  alike  Imprinted  in  your  memory  by  the  asso- 
ciations of  anecdote,  merry  and  grave,  and  you  feel  that  you  are  listening  to  the  magical 
Toice  of '  Bell  Smith'  at  home  Such  volumes  enrich  and  honor  American  literature." — 
Philadelphia  Merchant. 

"  This  is  a  capital  book ;  full  of  life,  spirit,  vivacity  and  information— thoroughly  lady- 
like, and  telling  precisely  what  everybody  wants  to  hear,  so  far  as  the  author  knows."— 
Salem  Oaeette. 

"  Spirited  and  artistic!  Bell  Smith  sparkles,  and  dashes  on,  amusing  and  interesting 
A  capital  book  for  a  leisure  hour  or  railroad  travel,  or  for  those  seasons  when  you  want 
to  be  pleased  without  effort," — Cleveland  Leader. 

"  We  like  Bell  Smith  and  Bell  Smith's  book.  A  lively,  free,  dashing  style,  she  talkt 
«n,  and  nothing  is  wanting  but  the  merry  laugh  we  know  she  is  owner  of  to  make  u» 
think  we  are  listening  to  a  very  interesting  woman." — Chicago  Journal. 

"  Lively,  gossiping,  chatting,  witty,  sparfcling  Bell  Smith,  we  must  confess  your  book 
has  quite  enchanted  us."— 2f.  Y.  Day  Book. 

« In  freshness,  piquancy,  and  delightful  episodes,  illustrative  6f  foreign  life  •'ri  mam< 
new,  they  have  rmrcly  been  equalled."— N«titmal  Era. 


J.    0.    DERBY'3   PUBLICATION «. 


"IT  IS  A  LOVE  TALE  OF  THE  MOST  ENTBANCING  KIND." 

Motion  Daily  Traveller. 

•WHO  IS  THE  AITTHOB1    WE  GUESS  A  LADY."-^.  Y.  Life  JHuttrattd. 


ISORA'S      CHILD. 

1  large  12mo.  volume.    Price  $1  25. 

« It  is  one  of  those  few  books  of  its  class  that  we  have  read  quite  through— for  we  found 
A  to  bare  the  requisites  of  a  good  book,  namely,  the  power  of  entertaining  the  reader  to 
the  end  of  the  volume.  The  story  is  not  complex,  but  is  naturally  told  ;  the  characters 
are  drawn  with  sharp  delineation  and  the  dialogue  is  spirited.  It  Is  something  to  add,  in 
the  present  deluge  of  bad  books  with  pleasant  names,  both  the  morals  and  '  the  moral '  of 
tee  work  are  unexceptionable.  It  is  understood  to  be  the  production  of  a  lady  whose 
name  is  not  unknown  to  the  reading  public ;  and  we  congratulate  her  on  the  increase  ot 
reputation  which  '  ISOBA'S  CHILD  '  will  bring  her  when  her  present  incognito  shall  be 
remoTed."— Burlington  (Vt.)  Sentinel. 

"  This  book  starts  off  with  its  chapter  first,  and  introduces  the  reader  at  once  to  the 
heroes  and  incidents  of  the  really  charming  story.  He  will  speedily  find  himself  interested 
AS  well  by  the  graceful  style  and  the  skill  with  which  the  different  scenes  are  arranged, 
as  by  the  beauty  of  the  two  principal  characters,  and  the  lessons  of  loving  faith,  hope,  and 
patience,  which  will  meet  him  at  the  turning  of  almost  every  leaf.  This  is  one  of  the  best 
productions  of  its  kind  that  has  been  issued  this  season,  and  promises  to  meet  With 
warm  approval  and  abundant  success." — Detroit  Daily  Democrat. 

"  Another  anonymous  novel,  and  a  successful  one.  There  is  more  boldness  and  origi- 
nality both  in  its  conception  and  in  its  execution  than  in  almost  any  work  of  fiction  we 
have  lately  read.  Its  characters  are  few,  well  delineated, 'and  consistently  managed. 
there  is  no  crowding  and  consequent  confusion  among  the  dramatis  persona.  There 
«re  two  heroines,  however,  Flora  and  Cora,  both  bewitching  creatures,  and,  what  if 
setter,  noble,  true-hearted  women,  especially  the  former,  Isora's  child— the  dark-eyed  and 
passionate,  but  sensitive,  tender,  and  loving  daughter  of  Italy.  The  work  will  make  iU 
.nark.  Who  is  the  author ?  We  guess  a  lady,  and  that  this  is  her  first  book."—  Weekly 
Lift  Illustrated. 

"Its  incidents  are  novel  and  effectively  managed;  and  its  style  possesses  both  earnest 
vigor  atid  depth  of  pathos,  relieved  by  occasional  flashes  of  a  pleasing  and  genial  humor. 
Among  the  crowd  of  trashy  publications  now  issued  froi.i  the  press,  a  work  as  true  to 
nature,  and  as  elevated  and  just  in  its  conceptions  of  the  purposes  of  life,  as  this  is,  is  all 
the  »ore  welcome  because  it  is  so  rare.  We  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  as  popular  as  It  if 
interesting."— Albany  Evening  Journal. 

"  We  have  seldom  perused  a  work  of  fiction  that  gave  us  more  real  pleasure  than 
thi*.  From  first  to  last  page,  it  enchains  the  attention,  and  carries  your  sympathies 
along  with  the  fortunes  of  the  heroine.  The  descriptive  powers  of  the  unknown  authoress 
are  of  the  loftiest  order,  and  cannot  fail  of  placing  her  in  the  first  ranks  of  authorship. '< 
— Cincinnati  Daily  Sun. 

"Aitorywhich  perpetually  keeps  curiosity  on  the  alert,  and  as  perpetually  baffles  B 
Ull  It  reaches  1U  denoAment,  is  certainly  a  good  one."— Bvfalo  C'ommtroial  idvertU*-, 


J.  c.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATION. 


THE  MORNINQ  STARS  OF  THE  NEW 
WORLD. 

BY  R.  F.  PARKER. 
I  elegant  12mo.  volume,  over  400  pages,  six  Illustrations.    Price  $1  25. 

CONTENTS  :— Columbus— Vespucius— De  Soto— Raleigh— Hudson— Smith 
— Standish— Arabella  Stuart— Elliott  and  Penn. 

"An  unpretending  work,  yet  a  valuable  one.  The  authoress  must  hare  entered  npoa 
her  task  with  hearty  enthusiasm,  as,  while  adhering  strictly  to  the  simplest  truth,  she 
has  thrown  around  her  portraits  a  new  charm,  and  given  to  them  a  refreshing  novelty 
of  aspect.  A  gallery  of  striking  portraits  worthy  of  preservation  and  a  galaxy  of  start 
whose  morning  light  must  not  be  obscured  is  the  noon-tide  brilliancy  of  a  successful 
present.  Iii  just  such  a  form  as  this  should  they  lie  on  our  book-tables,  reminders  of  the 
past,  shorn  of  the  technicalities  of  the  history,  and  presented  In  strong  relief.  The  name 
of  the  authoress  is  one  almost  unknown  ;  but  she  deserves  the  thanks  of  the  public  for 
her  well  written  book  in  which  she  has  given  a  convenient  medium  of  communication  with 
days  of  long  ago— days  that  never  should  be  forgotten  even  by  the  busy,  bustling  world 
that  cannot  stop  to  go  back  even  to  the  days  of  their  own  forefathers.  The  book  proves 
itself  a  very  entertaining  one  for  the  young,  who  declare  themselves  unable  to  leave  its 
fascinating  pages." —  Worcester  Palladium. 

"  A  more  appropriate  name  could  not  have  been  given  to  a  book  which  contains  all 
that  Is  interesting  in  the  lives  of  the  master  spirits  to  whom  the  world  may  be  said  to  owe, 
firstly  the  discovery  of  this  great  continent ;  and  secondly,  the  establishment  upon  it,  of 
European  colonies.  In  no  other  single  work,  of  whose  existence  we  are  a -rare,  are  there 
to  be  found  so  many  sketches  of  the  discoverers  and  first  settlers  of  the  principal  parti 
of  the  new  world,  which  are  at  once  so  concise  and  comprehensive,  as  those  given  in  the 
Morning  Stars.'  They  are  truly  muUum  in, pano."— Philadelphia  News. 

"  The  authoress  hag  fashioned  her  materials  in  a  very  winning  garb,  and  with  a  spirit 
and  feeling  rarely  kindled  in  preparing  succint  biographies,  imparts  her  glowing  appre< 
ciation  of  their  subject  to  the  reader.  We  hope  this  volume,  while  in  itself  it  will  be 
valuable  to  the  young,  will  lead  them  to  more  extended  historical  reading,  and  especially 
of  that  which  pertains  to  our  colonial  life,  and  to  our  own  country.  It  is  well  that  they 
should  be  reminded  of  the  comflicts  and  sacrifices  which  purchased  their  present  luxuri- 
ous immunities.  They  cannot  begin  better  than  with  this  charming  volume,  which  they 
willsnot  leave  unfinished."— N<nt>  Bedford  Jforoury. 

"This  book  is  alike  novel,  and  fortunate  In  its  title  and  its  character.  It  contains  very 
satisfactory  sketches  of  ten  of  the  great  spirits  the  history  of  whose  lives  blends  itself 
mcst  intimately  with  the  earliest  history  of  our  country.  It  was  a  beautiful  thought ;  and 
It  is  carried  out  in  a  manner  that  can  hardly  fail  to  secure  to  the  work  many  delighted 
readers."— Albany  Aryus. 

"  The  book  has  all  the  charm  of  romance,  and  the  value  of  genuine  history.  It  to 
written  with  spirit  and  vigor,  and  at  the  game  time  with  precision  and  taste.  The  grouptaf 
toftther  of  such  men  briugs  the  reader  into  the  best  of  company."—  Utioa  fftrald.  0 


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